


the color of hate and love

by little_bean



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 10 Things I Hate About You (1999) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-09-14 08:23:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9170632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_bean/pseuds/little_bean
Summary: Ten Things I Hate About You, bellarke style.What if Clarke was Katerina Stratford, and Bellamy was Patrick Verona? Ark High is not prepared for what's to come.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> ten things i hate about you is one of my favorite movies, and Kat is so obviously Clarke, and I just couldn't resist making this AU.

_ Sunday: _

_ Brunch 10:00 (ugh so early) _

_ Krav Maga 12:30-3:00 _

_ Dinner with Bell 5:30 (<3 <3 <3) _

 

_ Monday: _

_ School 8:00-3:00 (meh) _

_ Soccer 5:00-7:00 _

 

_ Tuesday: _

_ School 8:00-3:00 (meh) _

_ French Tutor 3:30-5:00 (helllll yes) _

_ Soccer 7:00-9:00 _

 

_ Wednesday: _

_ School 8:00-2:00 (early dismissal yeahh!!) _

_ Socc- _

 

“Octavia!!”

With a snap of her pencil lead, Octavia looked up from her desk, brow furrowed. Clarke stood above her, hands at her hips, foot tapping the ground.

“What?”

“That’s all you can say? ‘What?’” Clarke threw her hands in the air, exasperated.

Octavia’s chair made an awful screech as she stood up. “What do you want me to say? That I am ultra excited to go down to that god-awful party your mom is throwing?”

“No! I want you to apologize for abandoning me, for leaving me with my mom by myself at that god-awful party she is throwing,” Clarke responded as she picked up Octavia’s planner. After sifting through some pages, a grin formed on her a face. 

“You know what? That dinner party can wait. Why have you circled literally  _ every  _ Tuesday and Thursday in your planner until the year 2050?” 

Octavia snatched her planner from Clarke’s hands. “That’s not important. Was it important, however, is that you are wasting a perfectly good designer dress and a $120 hairstyle on gossiping with me. We need to get back downstairs.” She began to lead Clarke out of her room.

With a snort, Clarke rolled her eyes. “Exactly how I want to spend my Saturday night,” she said, hooking her arm to Octavia’s. 

“Trust me, I can think of much worse ways,” Octavia replied, laughing as they circled down the spiral staircase. “Maybe like standing in the same room as you and Bellamy?”

Clarke threw her head back, barking out a laugh. “Ha! Yes, I can agree with that.”

The next few moments were a comfortable silence, both girls’ heels clicking against the hardwood floor. The muffled noise of old-people party music grew louder as they approached the french doors that led to the Griffin Manor’s extensive backyard. Octavia could feel her heartbeat pound harder and harder with every footstep. 

Spinning around, Octavia spun around to face Clarke. “Can we be real for a second?”

Clarke blinked in surprised, but nodded without a second thought. “Of course, Octavia. What is it?”

“It’s just…” she trailed off, brushing Clarke’s bangs from her face. She avoided Clarke’s pointed stare, until Clarke grabbed her hands. 

“Octavia, come on.”

“Okay. It’s just, I love your mom, and am ever grateful for her…”

“But?...” Clarke lead her on.

“But she drives me crazy and I hate her!” Octavia whined, stomping her foot. 

Clarke laughed again. “It’s okay, let it out girl,” she swooped her arm around Octavia’s waist, pulling her through the doors. 

Immediately the light of the setting sun pierced the girl’s eyes, blinding them before they could take in the scene before them. As they stepped down a stair, Octavia could see the dozens of people: business men, well-known doctors, local politicians, all schmoozing around, trying to climb their way up the social ladder in an attempt to better their own pathetic, dry lives.

It was almost as disgusting as the beautiful hedges that enclosed the party within its maze. In the corner, a string quartet was isolated in its own world, adding to the almost-but-not-quite awkward atmosphere that felt like sandpaper on Octavia’s skin. Lamp posts gleamed against the darkened sky, lights connecting one to the other creating a fairy-tale affect. Many long tables draped in cloth were covered in an assortment of foods, drinks, and decorations that must have cost a fortune. Disturbingly small tables were spread both expertly and strategically round the remaining lawn to serve as depositories to abandoned drinks.

Everything looked perfect, and it made Octavia’s stomach wretch. The feeling got worse when Abby Griffin’s arm started waving in the air, shouting at the girls.

“Oh, Octavia! Clarke, sweetie! Come meet City Councilman Baxter,” she yelled, hitching up her floor-length deep brown dress as to not trip over her six-inch heels.

“I swear, I feel like a show dog at these events,” Octavia hissed to Clarke, as they approached Abby. “Ever since child protective services split Bell and me, I have been nothing but grateful for you and your mother taking me in. I know your mother had nothing but kindness in her heart, but why does she need to show me off all the time?

“You know it was hard for both of us when my dad died,” Clarke’s voice dropped as they got close to Abby’s enthusiastic face. “She needed to put her energy into something besides work, and she is proud of who you have become.”

“Who I’ve become?” Octavia repeated, taking a small sandwich from a server that passes by. “I’d like to think that I would be who am no matter what my living situation was,” she said.

“You would have, but in a different sense,” Clarke agreed. “There would be no way you could have paid for the martial art lessons, nor the athletic “recommended donations” that everyone knows you have to pay to be on the team, but I know somehow, with your tenacity, you would have found a way to still be the feisty, strong-willed O I know so well.”

“You also know I hate it when I can’t tell if you are being honest or sarcastic,” Octavia said. Before Clarke could respond, Abby finally reached the two.

“Girls, I was worried you would never come back to get the chance to meet Edward here,” Abby said. “You know Edward, Octavia had so much pent up energy when I met her! She couldn’t contain it until I realized it: she needed an outlet! Voila! Now look at her: captain of the varsity soccer team her sophomore year in high school, and already a medalist in her Krav Maga class!”

Baxter’s eyebrows raise as he was obvious impressed with Abby’s efforts. Octavia glued a smile to her mouth, morphing into the perfect daughter with ease. 

“Yes, all thanks to Abby, I’ve developed into the strong, intelligent, independent woman I always had inside of me.” Octavia ignored Clarke’s eye roll in her peripheral vision. “I have really found a calling with soccer; the girls I have met are going to me friends of mine my entire life, I just know it.”

“That sounds wonderful, Miss Griffin!” Baxter exclaimed.

Octavia raised a finger. “I’m sorry sir, but that’s Miss  _ Blake _ .” The councilman nodded in understand. “Ah, yes. You decided to not change your surname.” Octavia could tell he was losing interest as she became more dominant in the conversation. What a sad, sad man. But she wouldn’t end this without having the last word. “I am even hoping for the captaincy in lacrosse in the spring. It’ll be tough, but I know I have a good chance and it will really help my opportunity to get a scholarship at some high division colleges.”

Councilman Baxter finally seemed interested. “And how are you juggling academics with all of this activity?” He took a sip of some interesting smelling beverage, raising an eyebrow.

Octavia clutched her hand behind her back. “Well, I must admit they are not as impressive as my athletic endeavors,” she said. “My GPA does not appreciate the downwards pull of honors chemistry,” Octavia joked. The councilman was not amused. He coughed, then turned to Clarke. 

“And what about you, Miss Griffin? That is your last name, right?” Clarke looked taken aback at the sudden attention, but being the perfect Clarke Griffin that she was, she recovered at light speed.

“What about me? Oh, nothing as exciting as Octavia,” she said, motioning to her friend, trying to shift the spotlight back onto her.

“That’s just not true,” Abby said, placing a hand on Clarke’s bare shoulder. “Clarke has all A’s, even with five AP classes, and is on the track on becoming valedictorian at her high school!” 

“Mom, please,” Clarke said quietly, shoving the tip of her toe into the grass. But Abby kept plowing on.

“She has prospects at many high-ranking schools, especially the Ivy Leagues! I myself am an alum at Yale, and Clarke hopes to follow in my footsteps in the medical field,” she gushed.

“How wonderful, Miss Griffin!” The councilman said. “My own daughter is in eighth grade and is currently looking at schools. Do you think you could show her around Ark High any time soon?”

Clarke put on her shining smile. “Of course, Councilman. I am actually getting more into artwork recently, and am signed up for a couple of—”

“Oh Edward, is that Doctor Johnson calling you? I hear that he has quite the ER story!” Abby interjected.

“Really? I must hear it!” In a second Baxter was gone. At once Abby snapped her face to Clarke. Grabbing her by the arm, she pulled her to the side, whisper-shouting at her. Octavia followed quickly.

“Clarke, we talked about this. You're not to mention art at all with these people. You know the plan: Yale, med school, and then a successful career as a doctor.”

“No, mom, that’s  _ your _ plan!” Clarke said. “I don’t want that anymore. I want to study art and make a career out of it.”   
  
“That is completely unreasonable! I can’t fathom a way anyone could accomplish a  _ career _ out of that!”

“Dad did!” Clarke practically yelled, drawing the attention of some party-goers. With Abby’s glare, she brought her voice down a little. “You refuse to talk about or even think about Dad! Why are you trying to control my life since you can’t control your own?”

The silence between them was deafening. Octavia couldn’t pry her eyes away. Movement caught her attention: the lawyer Marcus Kane. He could always split the two of them.

“Abby! Look who I found!” Octavia burst in, all cheery, dragging Kane behind her. He seemed flustered, but once he saw Abby, agreeably followed Octavia’s lead.

“Yes, I was just telling her about this interesting new case I am thinking about taking that involves both domestic and professional issues with a family and Azgeda Hospital. I was hoping to get your advice?”

Abby looked at Kane, at Clarke, back to Kane. Her vice grip on Clarke released, leaving marks on her daughter’s arm. Octavia could see Clarke step away, hiding her arm around her back, the smile on her face not reaching her eyes.

“Marcus, I would love to help,” she said, walking away from Clarke and Octavia. Once they are out of an earshot, Clarke looked at Octavia with gratitude.

“Thank you for doing that,” she said. “I know you didn’t have to.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Octavia said, leading the two to a standing table. She waved down a server, getting them two margaritas.

“O, I don’t think you’re old enough for this,” Clarke warned, nonetheless taking the glass from Octavia’s hand.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Octavia simply repeated, taking a swig. Before she could take another one, Clarke swiped the drink from her.

“I’m not. You need to keep your wits about you. Any one of these people could start questioning you about Bellamy, and if not, they still want you to be sharp.”

Octavia looked at Clarke, insulted. “I know that! One drink won’t do anything. I happen to be very good at making people like me, and I don’t need your help at all navigating my life,” she spat, turning to leave.

“Octavia, I am only looking out for you,” Clarke called after her.

Octavia looked over her shoulder. “Well guess what, Clarke? You don’t have to. You’re  _ not _ my sister.” With that, she went to join the aristocratic crowd.

How could she mention Bellamy at a time like this? Octavia knew Clarke didn’t approve of him, much less like him, but she knew how much he meant to Octavia.

Octavia never knew her dad. Barely knew her mother; Bellamy doesn’t talk about it much, but Octavia knows she died of some sort of overdosing. He then raised her for years afterwards. Did an exemplary job of it as well, Octavia would say, if anyone would ever bother to ask her. Taking on job after job to keep the rent paid, to keep her fed, to keep them happy, he worked endlessly and tirelessly, all out of love.

But then one nasty neighbor, probably bitter about some argument that Aurora had with him long ago, called child protective services on the siblings, reporting the minor being taking care of another. When they government workers came, off they took Octavia, Bellamy arguing with everything he had, but it was no use. They stuffed Octavia into a car, and drove away, as Bellamy stood on the raggedy porch, watching the car drive off into the distant sunrise, as another government man kept a hand on his shoulder. Then he took Bellamy away too, to a different location, to keep the siblings separate.

It just so happened that the Griffins, after a terrible loss of Jake Griffin, were looking for a new purpose in life. At least Abby Griffin was. So she decided that she would help children in need of homes, to shelter them. She found Octavia, heard her story, took her in, promising to give her home, take care of her, but also let her be in close contact with her brother, and even provide him with housing near by, which was much more anyone else was offering her. Bellamy wasn’t allowed to live with Octavia anymore, as the services feared they would run away together, so Octavia took the opportunity for close proximity eagerly. 

Clarke wasn’t so keen on this new addition to the family, especially so soon after she had lost her dad. From the second Octavia walked into the gigantic house, she saw Clarke: a small, dainty blond girl, standing at the top of the staircase, one hand on the railing. She was angelesque except for one outstanding feature: her eyes. There was so much resentment was behind her blue eyes. She was a year younger than Bellamy, but still in the same grade, so Octavia thought she would know how to handle her. She was wrong. Clarke was upset of her mom replacing her dad so quickly, even though Abby constantly reassured her that was not the case, that Octavia just needed a place to stay. Clarke never listened to her.

Octavia couldn’t have been more grateful, however, even with the constant antipathy radiating from Clarke’s body, even as the girl tried to be somewhat welcoming. Octavia had a comfy bed, healthy food, a good relationship with her brother, and she wanted to return the favor to Abby by being a success story. She wanted to be the girl that Abby didn’t rescue, but opened doors for Octavia to walk through and become something great. So she tried every day to be a good daughter, and make Abby never regret her choice all those years ago.

Eventually, the two girls finally clicked, bonding over several Disney films in a marathon one school night. Abby had been furious, yelling at them for staying up so late, but the girls just giggled, sprinted to their rooms from the movie room, avoiding Abby’s rant.

Clarke seemed to think it was her duty to take care of Octavia after that as well; she would make her lunch, help with homework, keep her in line. And that was just too fucking annoying for Octavia. Should could take care of herself, thank you. Bellamy had taught her that much.

And yet, even with the knowledge that Octavia was fine on her own, and could very much hold her liquor, there was Clarke, still trying to be that overbearing older sister Octavia never wanted. 

As she made polite, cringe-worthy conversation with a couple of well-mannered couples around her, Octavia remembered at least she had Tuesdays and Thursdays to stay excited for. 

 

* * *

 

“Can you please pass the salad?”

“ _ Pouvez-vous s'il vous plaît passer la salade. _ ”

“Make is a question.”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “ _ Pouvez-vous s'il vous plaît passer la salade? _ ”

“Good. ‘May you point me to the nearest restroom?’”

“ _ Pouvez-vous s'il vous plaît me diriger vers la salle de bain la plus proche? _ ”

“Mh-hmm,” Lincoln hummed, sifting through the pages of the French book. The library was quiet now, as their study session was almost over. People normally cleared out by 4:30. “What type of restaurants do you like?”

“ _ Quel type de restaurant aimez-vous? _ ” Octavia recited.

Lincoln chuckled. He put the book down, making intense eye contact with Octavia. “No, no. I was actually asking you,” he said.

Octavia’s mouth hung open, not believing this was happening. “Are you serious? You’re asking me out on a date?” she squeaked.

Lincoln picked up the textbook hastily, hands shaking. “Well, I was, but if you are not interested, I fully understand… I know that I am probably nothing more than tutor to you-”

“Lincoln, I would love to!” Octavia said with glee, covering one of Lincoln’s large hands with her own. They smiled at each other, until a realization dawned upon Octavia. Her head fell on top of their intertwined hands, and she groaned. “No, no! This is awful!”

Lincoln lifted her head up with his free hand, concern on his face. “What? What’s wrong?”

“It’s my mother, or foster mom,” Octavia said. “She has a strict no-dating policy in the house. I’m not sure why, but my foster sister seemed okay with it so I never questioned it. I never cared because I’ve been waiting for you to ask so long I thought it would never happen,” she admitted as she rambled on.

“Really?” Lincoln asked, sitting up straighter in his chair. 

Octavia laughed, batting him playfully. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” she joked. “But now we have an issue.” She looked at Lincoln, determination flashing in her eyes. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Alright. I believe in you,” he said. “Now, I think we should actually get back to French. I just had to ask; it was a now or never moment for me,” he said, shaking his head.

Octavia smiled as he asked her how to conjugate “to give” in the future tense.

 

* * *

 

“Absolutely not! Don’t be ridiculous!” Abby practically screeched that them. She paced around the living room, as Clarke and Octavia sat on the couch.

Octavia leaned forward. She could see Clarke’s eyes wide, never seeing this development coming. She knew about Octavia “secret” crush; she never thought she would actually ask Abby to let her go out with him.

“Abby, please, listen to me. He is  _ really, really _ nice! Nothing would happen!” she pled.

“Nothing would happen? I know exactly what would happen!” Abby replied. She looked down to Octavia. “He takes you on a nice dinner. You feel comfortable, he sees that. He asks you if you want to go to his place to watch a movie. You agree. Next thing you know, you’re being taken advantage of, and you are regretting every decision you’ve made since you agreed to go on that date.”

Octavia stood up. “Lincoln would never do that to me! Please, just give him a chance!”

Abby crossed her arms. “I’m sorry, Octavia, I can’t allow it. Clarke’s content with not dating, right Clarke?” Abby looked at her daughter.

Clarke nodded.

“And why is that?”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Have you seen the unwashed miscreants that go to our school?” she asked, annoyed.

“There you go,” Abby said, triumphant.

“Ugh, that is so unfair!” Octavia said, stomping her foot. “Clarke’s not human! She just hasn’t met anyone to turn that heart from stone to flesh!”

Abby and Clarke stared at her. Octavia knew she might have gone too far with that, but there was no going back.

“Mrs. Griffin, please,” she said one last time.

“You know what,” Abby said, contemplative. “You can date,” she said. Before Octavia or Clarke could say anything, she pointed at her blonde daughter. “When she does.” She smiled at Octavia.

“What? But she’ll never date!”

“Then you won’t either! Oh, I like that,”  Abby said, walking away to the kitchen. 

When she was gone, Octavia turned to Clarke. “Can’t you find someone without a brain to take you on one date so I can see if there even is anything between me and Lincoln?!” she asked. Clarke looked at her, cold. 

“Maybe you should find someone without a real heart instead,” she retorted, marching off to her room.

Octavia stared at her as she left, an idea sparking in her mind.

Outside in the front yard, Octavia sat on the stairs, resting her head on the pillar, supporting her cell phone between her cheek and shoulder as she removed dirt from underneath her fingernails.

After one ring, there was an answer. 

“O? What’s up? Is there something wrong?”

“Hey big brother,” Octavia grinned through her smile. “Did you know that you’re so totally amazing? Like, the best brother anyone could ever ask for. Also, on Sunday I noticed your shirt was looking a bit small. Have you been working out?”

“What do you want, O?” Bellamy asked, easily seeing through her words.

Octavia crossed her legs, sitting up from her resting position. “Bellamy, I have a  _ huge  _ favor to ask.”

“...what is it?” he asked.

“I need to you ask one of your friends to take Clarke out on a date.”

“What?” he yelled from the other end, forcing Octavia to lift the phone from her ear.

“Just ask one of your stoner friends,” Octavia said. “It would mean a lot to me!”

“I’m sorry, O,” he said. “For one, those stoner friends you mentioned aren’t my friends. You know I don’t have time for friends. Two, I don’t see the point of all of this. Clarke is insufferable, someone would literally have to  _ pay _ me to take her out. What is the point of all of this?”

Octavia knew how he would react if she knew why she was really asking. “She’s been awful this past week, and I think she needs to get laid.” 

“Gross, O. I didn’t need to know that,” Bellamy said. “I’m not discussing this further, I have some homework I gotta finish and a football game calling my name,” he said, and then hung up on her.

Octavia sat in on the porch a while after that, watching cars drive by for a while. What was she going to do now?

She had to call Lincoln. She pulled out her phone again, dialing his number with flying fingers.

“...and then he just hung up on me!” she finished, catching Lincoln up on the entire conversation, word for word. “I’m so sorry. I would love to go out, but I can’t go against Abby’s wishes… after she took me in, it would just seem too…”

“It’s okay, I understand, Octavia. We can still see each other for tutoring, though, right?” he asked, hopeful.

“I wouldn’t even dream of getting a new teacher,” she replied, meaning every word.

They spent the next several hours chatting, hearts still full of what still could happen.

 

* * *

 

Clarke and Raven were walking through the quad, the rest of the student body scrambling to get to their after-school activities. 

“And then in third period, Finn had the audacity to stand up and contradict my statement. He said that Petrarchan poetry  _ isn’t  _ sexist, and that the women are placed on such a high pedestal that us females should feel flattered. As if anyone wants to be compared to a radiating sun one minute, to say that we freeze man’s feelings the next,” Clarke was saying.

“I wouldn’t actually mind that ability,” Raven said as they reached Clarke’s convertible.

Clarke laughed, agreeing. She unlocked the car as Raven hopped over the passenger door, tossing her bag into the backseat. “True. But I know that I was still right.”

“Of course.” Clarke started driving down the parking lot, when a motorcyclist cut her off. Rising from her seat, she shouted out, “Remove head from sphincter, then drive!”

The guy looked back at her, his eyes widened, and scrambled off, stopping by another large man who was getting on his own bicycle.

“Haha, nice one,” Raven offered Clarke a high-five. “Who was that?”

“Miller, I think. One of Octavia’s prospecting boyfriend’s friends.”

“That again? How many times has she asked to go on a date now?” Raven asked.

“Too many times to count,” Clarke said, turning onto the highway. “First it was Atom, then the football player, and now this Lincoln fellow who I think she gets French lessons from.”

“I’m sure your mother was very open to the subject,” Raven said dryly, shaking her head in the wind like a dog.

“You know it.” They stopped talking as the went on the onramp to the freeway, opting out to blast the radio instead.

 

* * *

 

“You good, man?” Lincoln asked Miller, concerned. 

“Yeah, just a minor encounter with the Shrew,” he grumbled, admittedly a bit startled. “Never mind that. Any news on Octavia?”

Lincoln messed with his helmet. “Naw. She has a complicated living situation, and her foster mom won’t allow it. She said that if Clarke dates, her sister-friend, that she would be able to, but that won’t ever happen.”

“Yo! Boys! Watcha talking about?” Finn Collins swaggered up to them, Chris Myles behind him. Finn slapped Miller on the back, eliciting a forced smile from the man.

“Nothing. Just girls being girls,” he said, hesitant. 

“Always a good subject! Man, I really had Clarke riled up today in AP English. You know how she gets when someone disagrees with her! Any chance I have to see her little cheeks turn red, I’ll take,” he laughs, fist-bumping Chris. “Have you guys seen her little sister, recently? Octavia? She was so awkward last year, but damn, is that girl fine now!”

Miller glanced at Lincoln, who had a frown forming on his face, ready to defend Octavia. “Hey-”

“You know,” Finn continued, ignoring Lincoln. “I’d like to land that girl one day. Seems like a good challenge!”

“Finn-” Lincoln cut himself on. He looked at Miller, who seemed confused, but then he turned back to Finn. “Good luck with that. She can’t date anyone until Clarke Griffin does. House rules.”

Finn looked up quickly. “Seriously? This just got interesting. So we just need to get Clarke Griffin to date? Man, that’d be a sight to see, Clarke dating again.”

“Why? Because she dumped your ass freshmen year?” Chris asked. Finn shut him down with a glare. 

“Shut up, idiot.” He turned to Lincoln. “So we just gotta find someone dumb enough to date Clarke.”

“I don’t think dumb enough is the right word. Strong-willed, more like,” Lincoln said. “Someone, like Bellamy Blake?”

Miller gasped. “Blake? Are you serious?”

Lincoln nodded. “He won’t do it without generous compensation, of course,” he said, recollecting Octavia’s words.

An evil grin formed on Finn’s nasty face. “I can provide that easily. Leave this up to me. I think Octavia will be free to ride the Collins train soon,” he cheered. He snapped, walked away, and Chris followed him.

“Dude, what was that?” Miller demanded, shoving Lincoln in the chest. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he responded. “Octavia isn’t stupid. She won’t go for Finn. But she will be able to go on a date with me now,” he said, a smile on his face.

Miller shook his head. “Damn, this is twisted, but it might just work. I guess I’m supposed to say nothing to Bellamy?”

“You got it. Just stay out of it. Now c’mon, we’re gonna be late for the film showing. Wick’s gonna eat all the popcorn before we even get there.” Lincoln climbed up into his motorcycle, and the two rode off into the distance.

 

* * *

 

Just before Bellamy shut his locker, he saw a hair out of place in his mirror. Licking his hand, he slicked back his hair, making sure it was all pushed back. When he was fully satisfied, he finally closed the locker, hefting his backpack onto one shoulder, as he opened his history book for last-minute studying for his in-class essay.

“Blake!” He turned at the sound of the shout. He stuffed a groan as he saw Finn Collins waving at him down the hall.

“What do you want, Collins?” he said, closing his book aggressively.

“I have a business proposition for you,” Finn said, resting an arm on Bellamy’s locker. Bellamy stared at his hand until Finn felt uncomfortable and stood up straight again. He cleared his throat. “Have you ever thought about dating Clarke Griffin?”

That caught Bellamy off guard. “Clarke? Clarke Griffin? My sister’s foster sister? Why is everyone suddenly obsessed with her?” He looked at Finn again. “Well, you’ve always been obsessed with her. But to answer your question,” he continued, ignoring Finn’s glare, “god, no. I haven’t spent that much time with her, but I would never date her,” he said, starting to head for his class, or he would be late.

Finn scuttled next to him. “Would you try, if I offered you some  _ generous  _ payment?” 

That stopped Bellamy in his tracks. “You’re going to  _ pay  _ me to take out a girl?” he asked. Finn nodded. Bellamy considered for a second, as outlandish as it seemed. Abby Griffin was covering for his rent, food and school supplies, but he still had two jobs to be able to pay from clothing, and his athletic equipment for football. He could use some extra cash. Hell, he could stand Clarke for some money.

He was just about to accept when he realized. “What’s in it for you, Collins,” he asked, voice laced in poison.

“Oh, nothing,” Finn shrugged. He would never tell Bellamy’s he was trying to nail his baby sister, unless he had a death wish. “I just like messing with that girl. She can really piss me off sometimes.”

Bellamy chuckled. “I can understand that. So how much are we talking?” 

After getting the payment,  _ first of many _ , Bellamy hoped, pocketing the two hundred dollars, he got to class to finally write that essay.

The second the bell rang, Bellamy headed to get the job started. He knew right where he could find Clarke: the art studio. Bellamy hated going down there, the kilns were always firing some sort of clay work, heating up the entire classroom, and frankly, Bellamy only liked being in the heat if it meant he could take his shirt off.

Venturing into the basements of the school, he spotted Clarke across the way. She was standing at an easel, covered in a pallet of colors. Lost in thought, she held a brush a inch off the canvas, deciding what exactly to do. 

Bellamy snuck up behind her, examining the photo. It was a landscape piece with an added element of life. A wide scene of a mountain range, with a lake in the foreground, had a couple of deer gathered around a lake, some drinking the clear lake, and others still yet to painted keeping guard. It was beautiful already, but he would never tell that in earnest to her.

“Nice work, Princess,” Bellamy greeted, sarcastic.

Clarke jumped, startled, hopping away from the easel as not to drip any paint where it did not belong. Turning around, she glared when she saw who it was. “What do you want, Blake?” She set down her plate of paint, wiping her hands on her apron.

Bellamy tossed on his best-looking smirk. He knew it worked; he had the cheerleading squad’s testament to back him up on that. “How are you today?”

“Covered in paint, and sweating like a pig in this furnace, actually. And what about you?”

Bellamy chuckled, trying to be charming. “What a way to get a guy’s attention!”

Clarke frowned, throwing away a paper plate that she must have used as a tester for brushes. “My mission in life. Why are you really here, Bellamy?”

“I was just thinking lately, we don’t really know each other that well, considering we kinda share a sister.” 

Clarke seemed impervious to his winning smile. She avoided his gaze pointedly, starting to gather up her art supplies. “I wouldn’t call Octavia my sister. She’s just... more than a friend,” she said. She walked to the sink to start washing out her brushes. “Besides, I think I know enough about you for my own satisfaction.”

Bellamy clutched his chest. “That hurts, Griffin,” he said, trying to be dramatic. He could see she was not amused, so he decided to be straightforward. “Just let me take you out on a date. What could happen?” 

Clarke walked back to her painting, putting it on the dry rack. “Nothing that I desire. See you later, Bellamy,” and with that, she picked up her backpack, stuffing her earbuds in her ears, and strutted away.

This might be harder than Bellamy thought. But that cash in his pocket called to him, and he knew he wasn’t going to give up just like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to @whatever-thehellwewant for making sure this wasn't *complete* trash before I pushed it onto the web.
> 
> Also I know Bellamy seems like an ass rn, but that will change soon!


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bogey's party, anyone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left kudos/comments, etc! It means a lot. Please enjoy this next part!

Clarke couldn’t understand what had gotten into Bellamy. It must have been some sort of joke; a cruel one at that.

Everyone at Ark High knew that Clarke Griffin didn’t date. Most believed it was because of her negative demeanor—anyone that approached her was destined to face the wrath and sharp tongue of the Griffin girl. But that wasn’t the true reason.

The real reason was because of Finn Collins. Freshmen year, right after Clarke’s father passed away, Clarke was all alone. Only Finn talked to her in the hallways, in math class, sat with her at lunch.

He made Clarke feel special again, wanted again. That next month, Clarke was returning to herself. She laughed again, talked to Finn’s friends, returned to a healthy weight. She started drawing again.

Then one unfortunate day, the tornado that is Raven Reyes transferred to Ark High School. She wanted to surprise Finn; they had dated in middle school, and never broke up when they decided on separate high schools. According to Raven, at least. Not according to Finn.

So there they were, making out by the bleachers one day after school, when Raven walked by.

“Finn?”

Finn had sprung off Clarke like she was a plague. The disbelieving look on his face was one Clarke would never forget.

“Rae? What are you doing here? You don’t go to this school,” he had said.

“Well, I do now. I wanted…” she didn’t need to finish her sentence. “Finn, who is she?” she gestured at Clarke.

Clarke looked at Finn. “Finn, who is _she_?” she asked him.

Finn just looked at Raven, dumbfounded, forgetting all about Clarke. “Raven, I thought that we...that you…” he couldn’t offer any explanation.

Raven walked up to him, jabbing his chest with finger. “How could you! You’re my family, Finn! And then you go and fuck some random girl the second you feel like it?”

“Hey, I am not some random girl!” Clarke stood up for herself. Raven looked at her, angry, but Clarke could tell she was more hurt underneath.

Clarke, however, was on fire. And she wasn’t going to hold anything back.

She turned to Finn, eyes blazing. “You, on the other hand, are the most disgusting, dishonest, deceiving and conceited douchebag I have ever known! I can’t believe you. I thought I knew you!” she yelled. Clarke positioned herself away from Finn’s arm, standing next to Raven. “This girl—Raven?” (Raven nodded) “Raven, seems amazing! And you just threw it all away, and for what?”

Finn looked at her, mouth agape.

Clarke stared him down. “Nothing. For nothing, that’s what. We’re over. Raven, you can have him, but I don’t see why you would want to.” And with that, Clarke started to walk away, forcing the tears back into her eyes. She wouldn’t give Finn another thought.

Only about three yards away, Clarke could hear footsteps behind her. She yelled out, “Finn, don’t even try,” and she kept walking. Yet the footsteps pursued. She turned around. “Finn-”

“Hey there. Clarke, right?” It was Raven, leaving Finn at the bleachers, who still looked frozen in shock.

“Um… yeah?” Clarke said, unsure of the girl’s emotions.

“I agree with you,” she said, hooking her arm in Clarke’s, dragging her back to the front of the school. She shook her head, making her ponytail whip back and forth. “I agree with what you just said. I don’t even know what to feel. He was all I had, for the longest time, but I can’t forgive him for this.” She pulled out a necklace from inside her red jacket. It was a metal ravan, obviously made by hand. Clarke didn’t know what to say.

“I’m mad at you, just so you know,” Raven said, squeezing Clarke’s arm a bit. “That rant was pretty badass though, if I must say.”

“Oh. Thanks, I guess,” Clarke said. They walked a bit in silence, reaching a bench. Raven unlatched herself from Clarke’s arm, kicking some leaves that had fallen on the ground. “I want to say I’m--”

“Don’t,” Raven stopped her, holding up a hand. “None of this was your fault.” She rested her hands in her lap. “You have nothing to be sorry for, and I don’t want you to be sorry for me.”

Clarke checked her watch. It was almost 4, and she had homework to do. She nodded at Raven, and was about to walk away when,

“Do you have a ride?”

Raven looked up. Looked down. “No, I took the bus here, and was planning on getting a ride back with Finn.” She didn’t offer more information. But Clarke didn’t need her to say anything; she could just look at the girl and see everything for herself. Her tattered jeans, not by design, and worn shoes told a story of poverty. The grip Raven had had on Clarke’s arm had shown her that Raven must either work out, or more likely, work, and be active doing so. Her hands were calloused, dirty, and her nails were chipped, unmaintained.

Her body language spoke of someone not very anxious to return home.

“My parents always cook too much food. Wanna get some school work done, and stay for dinner?” Clarke offered.

“I told you, I don’t want your pity,” Raven spat at her.

“It’s not pity. I just thought it would be nice to shit-talk Finn to someone who understood,” Clarke shrugged. That brought a genuine smile to Raven’s face.

“You know what, that sounds like a shit ton of fun. Count me in.”

Clarke smiled at the memory of the night as she scanned a display of sketch pads. While Finn still left a sour taste in her mouth, Raven always could cheer her up.

She finally spotted the perfect booklet. It had the best paper, was the right size, and fit Clarke’s price range. After her purchase, she returned to her car. To see Bellamy Blake. His hair was grossly slicked back, as usual, and he was casually cleaning his nails as he rested against Clarke’s beaten up old Mustang.

“Are you following me?” she questioned him, tossing her bag into the backseat.

Bellamy stood up. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was just grabbing takeout across the street, and I saw your car. Nice vintage fenders, by the way.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, crossing her arms, and raised an eyebrow.

“Not much of a talker today, huh, Griffin? You usually have so much to say to me,” Bellamy chided.

“That’s only when you’re pissing me off, and you’re getting awfully close,” Clarke warned. She opened her car door, pushing Bellamy off. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but Octavia is where our similarities begin and end. So just do us both a favor, and leave me alone.”

Bellamy raised his hands in defeat, walking away. He watched Clarke drive off, waving after her. She stuck a hand out the window, flicked it in farewell, and left with a puff of exhaust.

How was he supposed to convince her to go out with him? She was right, they had nothing in common. She came from old money, lived a completely different life than he. Bellamy only knew struggle until a couple of years ago.

So he called up Miller, phone in one hand, takeout in the other, a day later.

“Dude! I need your help,” he said once Miller picked up. He was met with silence. “Nathan? You there?”

“Uh, yeah,” Miller said. “What’s up?”

“I know you won’t approve, but Finn is paying me to take out Clarke. To mess with her.”

“And?” Miller asked, relatively unfazed.

“I need to know what Clarke likes.”

“And you called me? Why would I be able to help?” Miller asked, skeptic. “You know Clarke better than I do,” he pointed out.

“Barely. But I didn’t mean _you_ , exactly. Aren’t you friends with Lincoln? The guy teaching my sister French?” Bellamy didn’t exactly approve of Lincoln; he didn’t even know why Octavia needed to learn French. It was a waste of money, in his opinion.

“Yeah, I guess I am. You know, you should get to know him too,” Miller said. Bellamy cut him off.

“I’m good with just you as my friend, Miller. I don’t need anyone else. But let’s not get sidetracked. I need to you to have Lincoln ask Octavia about Clarke. She can’t know that I’m... interested in Clarke.”

“So how is he supposed to just casually mention Clarke?” Miller asked, dry.

Bellamy had an idea. “Have him tell her he wants to date Clarke. There! Perfect. Let me know if you get any intel. See ya.” He hung up, feeling good about himself. He had his Chinese food and was planning on getting some gaming done that evening.

And that was exactly what he was doing until there was a knock at his door. His adrenaline shot up immediately; people didn’t usually just drop by his house. What if it was the Feds, here to take him away again? Or maybe it was Abby, here to let him know that she wouldn’t be covering for him anymore. Or worse. Maybe she was here to tell him something had happened to his baby sister.

He paused Assassin’s Creed (Revelations), and crept up to the door. He peeked through the eye hole, and let out a deep breath once he saw Miller’s trademark beanie. He yanked open the door.

“Hey Miller, what are you doing here?” Miller walked in, and that’s when Bellamy noticed Lincoln behind him. He walked in without word, taking in Bellamy’s living situation.

Bellamy’s place was spotless. Kitchen scrubbed every other day, not a book out of place unless he was actually reading it, never laundry left in the machines. If anyone came over, they wouldn’t be able to say Bellamy wasn’t a capable adult.

“What is _he_ doing here, Miller?”

Miller looked at Bellamy, made eye contact at Lincoln, nodded. Lincoln cleared his throat.

“I talked to Octavia like you asked,” he said, hands still in his leather jacket pockets. Bellamy crossed his arms.

“Oh? And how did that go?”

“Perfectly. She really wants Clarke to find someone,” he easily lied. He actually had told her everything; how he had successfully convinced Finn to pay Bellamy into wooing Clarke. Octavia was ecstatic, getting more hopeful that they might be able to date soon. “Octavia said she doesn’t really understand Clarke, but she does know what she likes. And with Abby’s overprotectiveness, knows where she is almost all the time. Here,” Lincoln handed Bellamy some brochure. “One of Clarke’s favorite artists is going to be at The Dropship tonight. You should go, the exhibit starts in an hour.”

Bellamy took the ticket stub. “The Dropship? Oh, no, I can’t be seen there,” he said, thinking of the cheerleading squad once again.

“You have to, she has plans” Miller urged. “If you want this to work out, you gotta show her that you’re human.”

“Thanks,” Bellamy grumbled, glaring at his best friend. Miller just shrugged.

“It’s your choice.”

Lincoln said, “She also likes Young Adult novels, John Donne poetry or other metaphysical poets.”

That word meant nothing to Bellamy, and frankly, Clarke was just sounding more and more bland as he got to know her.

“She, um, also has black panties,” Lincoln said, shifting his weight awkwardly. Bellamy looked blankly at him. “If that helps.”

“Hell, it couldn’t hurt!” Miller barked, clapping his hands. He walked to the couch, and picked up a box of takeout. “What’s this? Chow mein? Don’t mind if I do.” He took a bite.

“What the fuck, man? I paid for that,” Bellamy said, marching to the couch.

“From what I know, you have an influx of cash rolling in now. And I need brain food to help you decide on what to wear to The Dropship. Go get stuff from your closet, we don’t have much time.” Miller tossed Lincoln a fortune cookie.

Bellamy closed his eyes, counted to five, then walked to his room, making sure to slam the door.

Lincoln turned to Miller. “You know, I told you to _not_ say anything to Bellamy. This is the complete opposite of that.”

Miller shrugged, changing the TV input. A soccer game flickered on. “Why are you complaining? This will only help out your cause. Now eat your fortune cookie and sit down like good little French tutor.”

Sighing, Lincoln did as told, cracking open his cookie.

 

* * *

 

Clarke almost couldn’t contain her excitement. She blasted Red Hot Chili Peppers as she pulled into the gallery parking lot, tapping on the wheel with her fingers to the beat. It was unreal, that _actual_ Georgia O’Keeffe paintings would be exhibited in her small town. She didn’t know how, or why, but she decided not to question it, either. And Clarke had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that she had to thank her mother for letting her know about this. Apparently it was on the hush-hush, so Clarke didn’t even bring Raven with her. Raven would have hated it, but Clarke would have loved to drag her along just to torture the girl.

Slipping off her sandals and switching into many-inched heels, Clarke finally made her way to the masterpieces. She stopped many familiar faces from her mother’s events, but Clarke avoided them, preferring to gaze at the artistry. Clarke did not like to consider herself a _good_ artist, by her own standards, but she was self-assured enough to call herself _okay_. So as she scrutinized O’Keeffe’s work, Clarke took mental notes, looking for any techniques she could use herself in some future works.

Clarke paused by one painting, titled “Blue and Green Music.”

“Stunning, isn’t it?” Clarke turned to see a tall blonde women next to her. How long had she been there? She wore a name tag: _Ms. Byrne, Curator_ it read.

Clarke nodded. “Indeed it is.”

The women kept her eyes on the painting. “Georgie was a very talented women, and even a pioneer in some sort. Many call her the mother of American modernism.” Finally she turned to Clarke. “But those words must be lost on the likes of you. Teens don’t understand anything these days. Now please, run along, and let the adults truly bask in the brilliance of artists that you may never fully see.”

Red. A whole lot of red. That’s all Clarke saw the split second Byrne stopped talking. But before Clarke could fully gather herself and begin to retort back, the women had slithered away to sweet talk some nicely dressed couple.

It would be childish to throw a fit, Clarke knew. So even though that’s all she wanted to do, she stalked to the bar. She may be a child, but she knew well enough that at an event like this the bartender would serve her. And anyone be damned if they refused Clarke Griffin.

Still, once she got to the secluded corner, Clarke slammed a twenty as she demanded a drink.

“Of course Miss,” the server said behind the counter, whisking away the cash. “What would you like?”

“Something strong,” Clarke spat, and the women looked to taken aback she simply nodded and started mixing something.

“Well, well, what is this? Finally realized what a real artist looks like?”

 _What?_ Clarke zipped around, only to see none other than Bellamy Blake, dressed in black slacks and a nice, ironed button down. He even had a tie. Just the sight, even so out of place, forced a laugh out of Clarke.

Bellamy’s mouth twisted, and Clarke had no idea if it was in humor or distaste. “Yes, I know, strange to see me here. But not for you, eh, Princess?”

Clarke shook her head. “Why the fuck are you here?” There was not a single possible reason she could come up with as to why Blake would be standing here, some sort of small drink in his hand.

“Come, now, princess shouldn’t swear. But c’mon: why can’t I appreciate art as much as the next guy?” Bellamy asked, his glass clinking as he gestured to himself.

“That’s just it—not ‘any guy’ appreciates art like this,” Clarke said, with air quotes. She looked for the curator, then glowered at her direction. “And according to some, not even some highly educated teenagers.”

“Ah, so that’s why you stomped over here? Because you were insulted by some know-it-all with a stick up her ass?”

“That about sums it up,” Clarke grumbled, snatching the prepared drink from the bartender’s hand. She smacked another twenty onto the countertop, walking up to another piece. Bellamy followed her.

“It just pisses me off so much,” Clarke said, crossing her arms, making sure not to spill her drink. It tasted too good (and she spent too much on it). “Why do people automatically assume that I don’t, or won’t understand anything that a normal teenager may not be interested in? Which is total shit to begin with, teenagers are fully capable of having enthusiasm for remote subject areas.”

 “Very much so,” Bellamy said, pushing his hair back.

“I mean, maybe it’s not a _classic_ thing for really anyone to be knowledgeable about, but I do know much about the modernism era!” Clarke exclaimed, raising her glass in air with excitement.

Then, without much thought to Bellamy’s personal interest, Clarke began a rant on modernism, practically spitting out every fact and story that she knew.

Which lasted quite a while, because as Bellamy soon became to understand, Clarke really did know a _lot_ about not only O’Keeffe, but other modernist artists.

They were at the bar again, filling up Clarke’s drink (of which Clarke had taken out another twenty dollar bill to pay for, but the bartender had shook her head, insisting that this one was on the house), when Clarke seemed to finally run out of gas.

“...of which Picasso thought was a brilliant idea, so of course he took Braque’s idea yet again, and boom: we have the invention of collages. Which I don’t actually like, but think about it… all that time, kindergartners weren’t cutting up newspapers and magazines to describe their favorite activities! Insane, right?” She sniffed her drink, took a sip, then placed it down, feeling suddenly better.

Bellamy smiled at her. “Totally insane. I feel bad for those poor children.” Some of Bellamy’s hair had fallen out of place, curling a bit at his hairline and neck. How odd, that Clarke had been able to have a full conversation (er, perhaps monologue) with Bellamy. She couldn’t help but smile back.

“I’m so sorry,” Clarke bursted, looking at the ground. “You really didn’t need to know all of that.” 

“It’s okay,” Bellamy said, his voice low. “It’s fun to see you rant. I’ve never seen you look more sexy.”

The bartender, pouring a martini, snorted, covering her mouth.

Clarke stared at Bellamy, mouth agape. Had he really just said that? Finally, she laughed again, batting him on the shoulder. “What’s gotten into you? You’re acting terrifyingly unusual.”

The intensity that Bellamy looked at her with stopped her train of thought. “Come to Wick’s party with me.”

That took Clarke out of her stupor. “What? Is he really throwing _another_ one? Doesn’t he have enough to do, especially with his shop?”

Bellamy one-shoulder shrugged. “Not my business. It’s tomorrow night. See you at nine thirty, then?”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “You don’t know when to quit, don’t you?” She checked her watch. “I should get going.” She headed for the door.

“So was that a yes?” Bellamy asked, following her.

“No,” Clarke said, rolling her eyes.

“Was that a no?” Bellamy followed up, stopping at the descending stairs.

“No!” Clarke called back, then waved her hand as she lost sight of Bellamy.

What a weirdo. Just when you think you know someone.

 

* * *

 

This was new to Bellamy.

The being-nervous thing.

Why was he nervous?

He tried to convince himself that is was only because he was about to be within a ten-foot radius of Abby Griffin. But he knew that was bullshit.

At the front door of the Griffin Manor, Bellamy paused to tease his hair. He almost opted for his classic, slick-back look, but he had noticed Clarke starting at his hair a few times during her adorable art rant when it had fallen slightly out of place. Besides, it took a lot of work to keep it tame, it desired to be a curly mess anyways.

So with a shake of his head, Bellamy raised a hand to ring the bell, when the door swung open, to reveal Clarke, still in painting overalls, with a plain white T-shirt underneath. She looked just as surprised to see him standing there as he was to see her, even though it was her house.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, a sour look on her face.

“Who is that?” Clarke was pushed aside to reveal Octavia, who was in contrast dressed in a short black skirt and tight tank top. Bellamy could see Abby Griffin walk up the stairs, ignoring her daughters. 

“Bellamy!” Octavia threw herself into Bellamy’s arms. Bellamy closed his eyes, enjoying the embrace, and when he opened them, Clarke’s demeanor seemed to have soften up.

“I said nine thirty,” he reminded her, releasing Octavia.

Clarke rolled her eyes. She seemed to do that a lot, Bellamy noted. “Whatever, I’m driving. And don’t blame me if Octavia steals the passenger seat from you.”

Octavia shot up. “Shot gun!!!” she yelled, sprinting to the car.

As she ran away, Bellamy glared at Clarke. “Wait, she’s going to the party too? And dressed like that?” Bellamy was about to go into full big-brother mode.

“Bellamy,” Clarke put a hand on his shoulder. For some reason, that itself calmed him down. “Relax. She’s not a baby anymore. She can take herself, and kick any guy’s ass with her martial art skills.”

Bellamy nodded. He new this was true. But still…

“Besides,” Clarke said, “She’s the only reason I’m going to this lame excuse of a party.” She smirked at Bellamy, flicked her keys in the air, and walked to her car.

“Now you’re just fooling yourself, Princess,” Bellamy said, walking behind her.

True to her word, Octavia had taken control of the front seat, leaving Bellamy exiled to the back. He didn’t mind. He got to witness a rare moment of Clarke Griffin and Octavia interacting without any inhibition. Around Abby, they had to be perfect. At school, Octavia insisted they don’t acknowledge each other, in worry that anyone think she gets special privilege being connected to Abby Griffin, as Clarke gets accused of constantly.

In Clarke’s car, the two argue on radio stations, batting at each other’s hands. They comment on each other’s clothes, ask about each other’s day.

From what Octavia told him, and what he heard at school, Clarke was supposed to be this cold bitch that kept to herself, mostly, who only cared about her grades and her art.

But from what Bellamy saw in front of him, with his own two eyes, Clarke was a loving, warm-hearted girl who put on a show. Or just went about life, not caring what other people chose to see when she passed them in the hallway.

Bellamy saw a girl who impressed him, and might just be more than he previously thought.

A girl who didn’t deserve to have someone need to be paid to date her.

Bellamy didn’t have much time to ponder as everything was rather close in this small town. They reached Wick’s before he knew it, and Clarke had to knock on his door to take him out of his thoughts.

“Party boy! We’re here!” she yelled at him through the window.

Bellamy climbed out, a grin forming on his face as he was hit with a blast of music, and already a whiff of beer.

“Kyle really has style,” he muttered, admiring the flashing winter lights decorating the trim of the house.

“God,” Clarke groaned, “please don’t use his catchphrase. I really don’t want it to stick.”

The music grew louder and louder, until it pounded in Bellamy’s ears as they entered the house. There was already a cloud of smoke above the pack of students dancing to repetitive music, that at any other party Bellamy would have enjoyed. But as he looked around, he realized he already lost track of Clarke.

“Dude! You convinced her to come! Unbelievable!” Miller walked up to Bellamy, offering him a beer.

“I know. I can’t believe it either. Do you know where she is now?” Bellamy asked, looking about the heads of those that surrounded them.

“Naw, I can’t say. But I did see Raven locking lips with Wick, if you can believe that.” Miller took a sip of his beer as Bellamy raised his eyebrows. “Yep. Listen, Bellamy, I have something to tell you…” he drifted off as Bellamy gave his best friend his full attention. Miller stared for a second, looking into the distance. “Wait! There’s Clarke! Talking to Finn.” Miller pointed across the way.

“What? Why?” Bellamy left Miller, pushing Miller’s oddness to the back of his mind as he made his way to Clarke. He knew Finn wasn’t stupid enough to mention their deal, but he still didn’t like the guy. He was a total fuckwad, and should stay away from Clarke.

He stopped before he reached the two, overhearing their conversation.

“Insult me all you want, I know you like what you see,” Finn said, licking his lips. Clarke looked at him blankly, eyes dead. No rolling for him.

“Trust me, you’re deluding yourself.”

“Maybe that’s what you think,” Finn said. “But I know Octavia digs it.”

Clarke stood up straighter. “I know for a fact she does not. So stay away from my sister,” she thrust a finger into Finn’s chest.

Finn stepped closer to Clarke, looking down at her, dangerously in range of her mouth. He said something Clarke couldn’t hear, then departed to the other room. Clarke stayed put for a while, biting her lip. A kid walked up to her, offering some glass, and Clarke snatched one, downing the drink in one go.

“Whoa! Clarke! What’s going on?” Bellamy finally got next to her, removing the glassware from her hand.

“Leave me alone,” she mumbled, pushing away from Bellamy. She disappeared into the crowd, melding into the pack perfectly with her short height. Bellamy groaned, running his hand through his hair. He made to follow her, or at least try to.

“No, sorry Octavia, I think he’s working tonight,” Bellamy heard Miller say. In the corner, Bellamy saw O and Miller sharing a beer.

“Darn, I was really hoping Lincoln would be here,” she said, looking sad.

This was a development to Bellamy. Octavia definitely did not want to get extra tutoring in. Why was she so interested in Lincoln being here? He was about to shout at them, when Finn walked up to Octavia.

“Hey there, girlie,” he said, putting on a winning smile. Octavia looked unimpressed, but then she put on a fake smile of her own.

“Hey,” she responded, flicking back her hair. “What’s up?”

Now Bellamy was charging towards them. Octavia loved attention, and he knew Finn was willing to give it to her. But not on his watch.

A flash of blonde hair caught his attention, and Bellamy swiveled his head to see Clarke high-tail it out of the main room.

“Clarke!” Bellamy yelled after her, shoving drunk kids out of the way. When he finally got to her, she was sipping on another drink. He tried to take it out of her hand. “What number is this, Clarke?”

She moved it out of his reach. “None of your business,” she growled.

Bellamy let out an exasperated sigh. He looked behind him, towards where Octavia and Finn had been, but he didn’t spot them. But he couldn’t leave Clarke while she was inebriated like this.

_“Oh, yeah yeah…”_

The famous intro blasted throughout the room.

_“Yeah yeah, I think I did it again. I made you believe, we’re more than just friends.”_

Turning back around (really, all this turning was making Bellamy dizzy) Bellamy was dumbstruck. The corner of the room had been cleared, and there was Clarke, dancing on the pole for all she was worth. Why did Wick even have a pole? What the fuck?

_“Oh baby, it might seem like a crush, but it doesn’t mean, that I’m serious.”_

Clarke lifted herself in the air, unhooking one of her overall straps. She spun around, and the crowd cheered and whistled for her.

“Bellamy!” Someone punched him in the shoulder, hard, and Bellamy was prepared to kill someone. But it was only Finn, and that would be an unfair fight. For Finn. Just to make that clear. “What’d ya do to her? Shit! Look at her go! Nice job!”

“I didn’t-” Bellamy started, but Finn dashed off to cheer Clarke on.

_“But to lose all of my senses… that is just so typically me!”_

Completely upside down, Clarke’s hair flowed beneath her, beautiful waves of gold. She lifted her hands out, holding herself up with her legs alone. Bellamy saw with horror that they were relaxing. “Clarke-no!”

_“Oops! I did it again!”_

Clarke grabbed the pole with her hands, flipping in the air, legs kicking out, and she caught herself before she fell. She hit her head in the process, but she didn't show it. She looked at the crowd, basking in the applause. Then she looked dazed, and lost her grip. Bellamy rushed forward, catching her bridal style. The crowd boomed, thinking it was all planned. Bellamy looked at the girl in his arms, who looked like she was just taking an everyday nap. She looked angelic.

_“I played with your heart, got lost in the game, oh baby baby. Oops! You think I’m in love, that I’m sent from abooooove… I’m not that innocent!”_

Bellamy startled, suddenly remembering a conversation he had with the girl in his hands years ago. It was when Octavia had just started Krav Maga, and had been nailed in the head by a powerful blow. Bellamy wanted to let Octavia rest, but Clarke growled at him, saying that you shouldn’t let a potentially concussed person sleep as you needed to monitor their symptoms.

Taking her outside, Bellamy placed her outside on the grass in the backyard. He pushed her hair out of her face. “Clarke, hey Clarke,” he said softly. Fluttering her eyes open, she met his in a bit of a haze.

“Bell,” she said, just as softly. Bellamy’s heart pounded. She had never called him that, and it was doing crazy things to his mind. But he couldn’t let himself get distracted.

“Let’s sit you up,” he said, helping her. She gripped onto his forearm as she followed his lead.

“Whoa, I dunno… I kinda want to lie back down,” she said, trying to fall backwards. Bellamy didn’t let her.

“Nope! Some annoying woman once told me to keep those with concussions awake,” he said.

Clarke looked at him, both confusingly and accusingly. “And who was that?” He swore he heard some jealousy in her voice.

Laughing, he tucked a strand of gold behind her ear. He was so close to her know, able to see the flecks of green in her sparkling blue eyes. They were captivating.

“You,” he said, one hand on the back of Clarke’s head.

She leaned forward, dangerously close. Bellamy licked his lips. “Your hair is very curly tonight,” she said, very serious.

Chuckling, Bellamy pulled away. “Oh, is that so, Princess?”

She nodded, face stoic. She looked in front of her.  “Yes. I think I like it better that way. Free!” With that last word, she splayed her hands in front of her, arms outstretched. The force of the movement made her teeter backwards, and Bellamy had to catch her, once again. Back into a sitting position, Clarke clutched her stomach. “I don’t…” she tilted her head away from Bellamy, to his relief, and barfed next to her.

When that episode was over with, Bellamy moved them away from the vomit-soaked region. And he finally let Clarke lay on the grass, curled up next to him. She nuzzled her nose in his thigh as he rubbed circles on her back.

Bellamy spotted a figure making its way up the grassy hill, and was pleased to see it was Miller. The boy plopped down next to Bellamy.

“So, about earlier.”

“Oh, right,” Bellamy said, remembering their conversation. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, totally fine. It’s just, you know how I haven’t dated since the whole thing with Sam didn’t work out?” Bellamy nodded. “Well, I… do you think it would be weird to date a junior? As a senior?”

Bellamy looked at Miller. “No, of course not. I say do what you want.”

Miller smiled, relieved. “Thanks. That means a lot. It’s just… he’s also one of Octavia’s friends. And, I don’t know, but…”

“Miller,” Bellamy placed a hand on his knee. “Octavia makes great choices with her friends. I am sure they would make a good partner too. Who is is?”

“His name is Monty,” Miller said, blushing a bit. “He’s also in AP Bio with me.” Bellamy smirked, about to make some joke, when Clarke made a noise. She released his leg, only to reach up and grab his shirt in an attempt to pull him closer, which was impossible.

“Was taking care of a drunk girl part of the deal?” Miller asked, glancing at Clarke, who now had an arm wrapped around Bellamy’s leg.

Bellamy looked at Clarke. “I’m beginning to think I don’t care,” he said.

Miller looked at him, stunned. “Bellamy. Don’t tell me _now_ you’re getting a heart.”

Bellamy frowned. “Why the hell not?”

Miller pointed at Clarke. “Because if she finds out, I am afraid of what she’ll do to you. Stay safe. And don’t worry about Octavia tonight, I’ll drive her home.” He patted Bellamy on the shoulder, then went to find this Monty he had mentioned.

Bellamy looked at Clarke. Damn. Miller was right. What was happening right now, to Clarke, wasn’t orchestrated in her mind. To her, Bellamy was just a nice guy who had her best interests at heart. Which maybe was true, but it wasn’t the whole truth.

He had to get her home before he made a bad decision.

In Clarke’s old car, Bellamy played music to keep Clarke awake and talking. She knew every song that came on the radio, singing off-tune after shouting out the artist’s names. Eventually, and Bellamy doesn’t know when, he joined her, a bit embarrassed when she complimented him on his strong baritone.

They sang along to “Closer” by the Chainsmokers as Bellamy pulled up to Clarke’s house.

“We ain’t never getting older!” Clarke yelled, now completely disregarding any type of musicality in her voice. Bellamy was laughing hard as he fought to get the words out.

Finally, he pushed the off button on the radio. He looked to Clarke, who still seemed to be in her drunk haze. “This is your stop, highness.”

She looked at him, a small smile on her face. “I think I like ‘Princess’ better,” she said, closing her eyes and leaning forward.

Bellamy copied her, reaching out to hold her face—

_If she finds out, I’m afraid of what she’ll do._

Bellamy quickly pulled back, shaking his head. No. He couldn’t. One, he was still being paid to take her out. Two, she was drunk. That was wrong on so many levels. But at least she wouldn’t remember his rejection.

She won’t remember any of this, Bellamy realized, upset.

But when Clarke opened her eyes, not feeling anything on her lips, Bellamy wasn’t too sure about that anymore. Fire burned behind the ice, and any indication of alcohol was gone. She seemed scarily sober.

“Perhaps another time, Clarke,” Bellamy said, feeling the need to fill the silence. She just stared at him. Then she shook her head, and stormed out of the car, slamming the door behind her.

Bellamy watched in agony as the girl who was nothing like he thought closed him out of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to stay true to the movie but change it up a little bit so it's not like reading a transcript with the names swapped. Let me know what you guys think about it so far :D


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love "Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You" as much as the next person, but that just didn't feel right for Clarke and Bellamy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm beginning to more step away from the concrete guideline of 10 Things, as some things, to me, just don't fit Clarke and Bellamy's personality. But the gist, of course, is till the movie's plot! How could it not?

Idoit. Fool. Sucker. A downright moron. What other words sufficed? Dunce?

Clarke lay in bed as she racked her brain for more synonyms. She needed to find one that fit the exact connotation she was looking for. To describe how she felt. To describe who she was.

“Ugh!” She exclaimed, throwing her head back. Unfortunately, that resulted in hitting her skull against her hard backboard, causing a splitting headache. “Ugh,” she whined, holding her cranium in her hands. She continued whimpering as she tried to reach for her water bottle on the nightstand. She only succeeded in knocking it down onto the ground with a soft  _ thud _ as the bottle landed on the carpeting. Clarke slowly rotated her body out of the bed, wiggled her toes in the carpet, and then ungracefully fell facedown on the floor. 

“Great,” she mumbled against the carpet, getting a taste of the fuzz and dirt. “Just great.”

She closed her eyes, semi content with her position of being squished against the floor, arms at either side in weird contortions, butt in the air as her knees were almost touching her stomach. If Bellamy could see her now, he would laugh his stupid-ass ass off.

God. Bellamy. Just thinking his name made Clarke’s blood boil. Enough so that with all her might, Clarke forced her eyes open, pushed herself off the the floor, and reached for the water bottle. 

Taking a sip, she thought about last night. For the amount she drank, Clarke remembered a lot. Plenty.

Or maybe just enough.

She replayed the scene in her head again and again. The high of singing had gotten to her head, combined with the alcohol… Bellamy’s eyes had looked so dreamy, his hair so adorably messy… she just wanted to count all of his freckles, so she had leaned closer… closed her eyes…

Weird crinkling pierced Clarke’s hearing. Clarke sprang her eyes open, and she realized she was practically making out with her water bottle.

Capping the empty bottle, she threw it across the room, banking it into the trash where it crunched sadly, feeling rejected.

“Yeah, me too,” Clarke relented, sagging her shoulders.

What had exactly gotten into her? Bellamy was a first-grade douchebag, and Clarke had let shots of god only knows what and a short night of kindness cloud her vision. He’d been acting odd all week, showing up after class asking about her day, offering to carry her books. And that art gallery. He clearly just wanted to fuck with her.

_ But I guess not literally…  _ Clarke thought.

That’s what perplexed her the most. She was fully ready last night to go as far as he wanted. She was more than ready. After a three year dry spell (by choice), she was all-in. But Bellamy had refused her. Why? Was there something wrong with her? Was she not attractive enough for him? Not popular enough? Was it gross because she was Octavia’s foster-sister or adoptive-sister or whatever the fuck she was?

What right did  _ he  _ have to refuse  _ her _ ? None! 

“None at all!” Clarke said loudly. She yelped, then immediately covered her mouth. But it was too late.

Her bedroom door opened to reveal Octavia’s head peeking in. “What was that?” she asked, too sweetly.

“Nothing,” Clarke grumbled, holding her knees to her chest.

Octavia held up a new water bottle. “Brought you something.” She tossed it to Clarke without warning, who attempted to catch it, but failed, resulting in it hitting her in the boob. 

“Ouch,” she complained, rubbing her right breast. Octavia ignored the mishap, hopping beside her.

“So. How was your night?” she asked, knocking shoulders with Clarke. 

That also hurt. Octavia really didn’t know her own strength. As Clarke rubbed her shoulder, she mumbled “None of your beeswax.”

That got Octavia to fixate Clarke with an intense stare. “So something happened! Tell me tell me tell me tell me tell me!!!” She squealed. 

Clarke covered her ears until she couldn’t take it anymore. “Okay! Okay! A guy I might—emphasis on  _ might _ —be into fucking rejected me! Okay? And it’s fine. He was acting unlike himself, anyways.”

Octavia fell silent. “How so?”

Clarke glared at the girl. “I went in for the kiss and he didn’t seem to be too into that idea.”

“No, no,” Octavia said. “How was he acting unlike himself?”

“Oh. Too nice, I guess. Very diligent. Asking about my life. You know, acting like a human being. Not what I expected. But it doesn’t matter. I remembered who is really is this morning when I woke up, and I am never going to see him again.”

“He asked about your life?” Octavia asked, surprise in her voice.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t matter,” Clarke insisted. “Now, please get out. I need to paint.”

“Can’t we talk a little bit more—”   


“Out!” Clarke yelled, pointing to the door. Octavia raised her hands in surrender, exiting.

Clarke turned to her canvas after she gathered her supplies. 

Black, red, and blue seemed like appropriate colors. She mixed them on a pallet, and went into full-artist mode. She first covered the side with the rough black, mixing it with brown. Using a knife, she carved edges, marking the shades of the hanging cliffs. With broad, confident strokes, Clarke got lost in her masterpiece, finding herself in her artistry. 

Clarke often found that when she couldn’t find the right words, her paintings seemed to suffice, and more than likely described perfectly how she was feeling, what she was trying to articulate. When others saw her work, they saw a bit of her message, but mostly people just saw what they wanted. Which was fine, that is what art is all about, Clarke thought.

With a final stroke of blue, a simple wisp of air on the canvas, Clarke stepped back, examining her work.

The scene of a deep canyon, up in flames, as a lone silhouette walked in alone, greeted her eyes. Flames crept up around the figures, but the red and blue flames seemed to not be able to penetrate the person. They were invincible.

Yes.  _ That’s _ how Clarke felt. She could get damaged by this experience. But she won’t let it— _ Bellamy _ —define her actions. She will remain impervious to him and his stupid face.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t still be angry at him. 

Putting down her art supplies, Clarke decided that her silent therapy session time was over, and she needed to rant. So she picked up the phone and dialed Raven, ready to explode.

 

* * *

 

“How did you so royally fuck this up?” Miller asked Bellamy.

Bellamy groaned, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t know, man! It all started out as a joke. Just pretend to be into Clarke for a little bit. And then… I mean, she had no idea, and she is actually so funny, and intelligent…”

Miller shook his head. “You’ve got it bad.” 

“I know! And then she wanted to kiss, and it just felt so  _ wrong _ , even though I wanted to, so badly… fuck!” Bellamy yelled, not knowing what else to do.

“Well, it might be for the best,” Miller said, giving Bellamy a pat on the shoulder. Bellamy looked up, confused. Miller rolled his eyes. “Blake, you have to be out of your mind. All of this is a recipe for disaster. Clarke is the daughter of the women taking care of your baby sister. The same women, I might add, who is paying for the majority of  _ your _ bills. Getting close to Clarke is dangerous. Even if it had developed normally, I would have warned you against this, because if it all went south, your relations with Dr. Griffin would have downsized tremendously.”

Bellamy had to admit he was right, but that didn’t change how he was starting to feel about the younger Griffin.

“Plus,” Monty cut in, one arm hooked in Miller’s, “this  _ wasn’t _ a natural development. Finn Collins was at the center of all of this. Clarke truly despises that kid, and the fact that he was had a major involvement in this won’t look good to her at all.”

Bellamy glared at Miller. “Why did you have to tell him everything, anyways?” he spat, gesturing at Monty.

Miller just shrugged. “I dunno. It just sorta came up. But we can trust him.”

“Can we?” Bellamy asked, suspicious. He looked over Monty. “How can you say that Clarke hates Collins with such certainty?”

“Clarke and I had honors chemistry together,” Monty said, like it was obvious. “She was pretty open about her feelings, as Finn was in the class as well. She made sure everyone knew how much of an ass he was… well, is.”

“So I’m fucked no matter what I do,” Bellamy groaned, sitting down on the bench. The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch period.

“I would recommend vulnerability and honesty, two things I know you struggle with,” Miller said. “It might be hard, but in the end, if this is really worth it to you, it could end up for the better.”

“How did you get so damn smart all of a sudden?” Bellamy asked, grabbing his backpack.

“He met me!” Monty joked, pulling Miller with him, as they departed for their respective classes.

Bellamy sighed. As he walked to class, he contemplated what the twosome had said. They were probably right. Bellamy needed to talk to Clarke. But he had a problem.

It was Thursday. Almost a week after the party.

And Bellamy hadn’t seen Clarke once. 

Finn had found him in the middle of the week, complimenting him on his skills, waving more money in the air. After telling him to fuck off, Bellamy shoved him to the side, making the dollar bills fly everywhere.

But there had been no flash of a blonde ponytail, no colored overalls anywhere in the hallways, no roar of Mustang engines in the parking lot. It was eerie. Bellamy had even checked the art studio after school on yesterday, and failed to find Clarke. He almost asked the teacher until she gave him a fatal glare, and he quickly fled the dungeon.

Today, after school, he made his way to the library. Immediately, he found Octavia, her nose in a textbook, reading a passage with Lincoln.

“Octavia!” he called through the room. Several people shushed him. “O!” he called a bit more quietly. She finally looked up, puzzled.

“Bell? Is there something wrong? We only have an hour and a half per session.”

“This is important. I need to talk to you about…” Bellamy almost thought twice about this. Octavia will get too invested once he reveals what he’s being doing, and doesn’t she think that Lincoln is trying to date Clarke?

Bellamy made eye contact with the man as he trailed off. Lincoln nodded, understanding the look.

“...about Clarke,” Bellamy finally said.

Octavia stared at Bellamy. A second later, she shut her French book, and gestured to the chair beside her. “Sit.”

Bellamy obeyed, still tense. He looked to Octavia, then Lincoln. Bellamy didn’t know what the man had told Octavia so far, but it didn’t matter anymore. Bellamy needed to right his wrong.

So he spilled. He told Octavia about Finn approaching him. About the art gallery. Even Wick’s disastrous party. He didn’t give all the details about that night, but he made it abundantly clear he screwed up what was developing with Clarke.

Octavia remained silent for the most part, save for some small murmurs to make sure he knew she was listening. Bellamy avoided eye contact the entire time, as confiding his problems to his younger sister went against his personal grain so much it almost physically hurt. But when he looked back, what he saw surprised him. 

Octavia had the biggest smile on her face, teeth all bared. Bellamy shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “What?”

“Oh, Bell, this is more than I could have ever asked for!” she exclaimed, drumming on the table happily. Some people’s heads turned, but no one said anything about the commotion.

“Wait wait…” Bellamy held a hand up. “What do you mean?”

Octavia froze. Returned her hands to her lap. “Um. Well. This might sorta, maybe, allbemyplansoIcandateLincoln.”

Bellamy blinked. “Once more, for the people in the back?”

“This was all part of a weird plan of mine. To have Clarke date someone. So I can date. Lincoln.”

Bellamy stared blankly. Octavia held her breath as Lincoln took her hand under the table.

“ **_What?!?!_ ** ” Bellamy roared, standing up so suddenly his chair went flying behind him. This time, the librarian walked up to their table, giving them a pointed look.

Bellamy’s nostrils flared. “Outside,  _ now _ .” He exited the building without looking back. They reached a picnic bench next to the parking lot, and Bellamy gestured for Octavia and Lincoln to take a seat in front of him. They did so, hands still together. Bellamy reached down, pulled their hands apart roughly, then started pacing.

“I can’t… I don’t understand…” he said, trying to grasp what he had learned. He stopped in front of his sister. “So you’re telling me, that I was set up?”

“Yes.”

“To set up someone else.”

“Yes. But Bell--”

“Don’t!” he stopped her, still trying to think. But it still didn’t make quite enough sense. He needed more details. Crossing his arms, he nodded to Lincoln. 

“You. Tell me the whole story.”

“Bellamy, why won’t you-”

“Not now, Octavia! I want to hear it from him.”

Lincoln shrugged. “I just wanted to date Octavia, and she wanted to date me. That couldn’t happen unless Clarke was dating someone. She tried to get you to find someone for her, but you refused. And then, well, Finn wanted a challenge.”

“What does that have to do with all of this?”

Lincoln cleared his throat. “You won’t like it, Bellamy.”

“Tell me,” Bellamy said menacingly.

“Finn saw Octavia, and thought he could make her sleep with him. But then he heard of the Griffin household rule, that O can’t date unless Clarke does.”

Bellamy turned to Octavia. “That bastard wanted to sleep with you? Why I oughta--” he closed his eyes, calmed himself. “No. Lincoln. Continue.”

“So, um, I maybe had suggested that he pay you. To date Clarke.”

“Why would you even think of--” Bellamy cut himself off, remembering a conversation from what seemed like ages ago.

_ Someone would have to  _ pay _ me to take her out, _ is what he had said. 

“Octavia told to you about our phone call in detail, I guess,” Bellamy remarked. Lincoln looked sheepish. 

“Yes. And I’m sorry Bellamy, maybe this wasn’t the most ethical thing to do, but--”

“Wasn’t the ethical thing to do?” Bellamy repeated, gritting his teeth. He looked dead into Lincoln’s eyes. “This is one of the most  _ twisted _ things I have ever heard.” Bellamy looked back to Octavia. “And you, you are going to find a new French tutor. I forbid you from ever seeing this man again.”

“What?” Octavia stood up. “You have no right to say that!”

“I’m your brother. Of course I do. Lincoln, leave us.”

Lincoln reached for Octavia, then seemed to think better of it. “ _ Je t'appellerai _ , Octavia. It’s for the best.” He stood up and left. Octavia looked somewhat reassured, but still upset.

“I don’t know what he said, but I don’t care right now,” Bellamy said. “First of all, how could you do this?”

“How could  _ I _ ?” Octavia asked. “Maybe I just wanted something to myself for once, Bellamy! Do you know what my life is like?”

“Yes! You live a nice, comfortable life, in a nice house, with good food, and you receive a great education! What else could you want?”

“Everything, Bellamy! Everything! I try to be perfect, all the time, for Abby Griffin. And I mostly am. I keep my anger to myself, controlled. I don’t talk about my past in front of Abby’s colleagues. I try really hard in school. But life isn’t just about perfection! I want to experience things on my own! I want to meet people that aren’t stuck-up asses! I want to date someone I like for who he is, not for what other people think of him! So whether you like it or not, I will keep seeing Lincoln.”   
  
“You most definitely will not. That’s not the type of person you should be with, who would manipulate people so readily for personal gain. Besides, I told you so, and he’s much too old for you.”

“Age means nothing. And maybe he did step a bit out of line here, but it was for me! Doesn't that mean anything to you? Lincoln is a good, honest, kind man, and would never do anything to cause real harm. Besides, you should speak for yourself. Like you weren’t manipulating Clarke for money. Doesn’t that count as personal gain? Ignore it all you want, but you never had to agree to Finn’s offer. You’re as much to blame as I am.”

Bellamy opened his mouth to fight back, but suddenly found all of his energy drained from his bones. He sat down on the bench.

“You’re right, O.”

Octavia seemed startled about this change of pace, but gracefully sat down next to Bellamy. 

“I really am sorry, Bell,” she said softly. “I didn’t think it would get so out of hand.”

“It’s okay. But I just don’t know how to fix it now.”

Once Bellamy had heard enough, he decided to throw Miller’s advice out the door. Bellamy couldn’t tell Clarke anything now, now that Bellamy knew of Octavia’s involvement. He couldn’t risk Abby finding out, and then kicking Octavia out.

Octavia reached out for Bellamy’s hand, who took it. “What did you mean earlier?” he asked. “When said ‘this was more than you asked for?’ You seemed happy.”

“Ah. Well, I might have always been rooting for you and Clarke to get together. Seriously, you guys are perfect,” she added when Bellamy looked incredulous at her. “Both stubborn, hotheaded, kind, loving, and big softies on the inside past that hard exterior. Plus, whenever you guys are in the same room, you flirt endlessly.”

“We argue!”

“Flirt,” Octavia insisted. Bellamy couldn’t really argue anymore; he had to admit he always enjoyed debating about random, unnecessary things with the young Griffin. Be it whether chocolate or vanilla ice cream was better (he said vanilla, Clarke was adamant about chocolate), or if going back in time to save the Titanic was a good idea (Clarke wanted to save lives, Bellamy had watched enough TV shows and movies to know tampering with the timeline was too risky), Bellamy knew he never was as upset as he made himself appear during those exchanges. Would he ever get to argue with her again?

“How mad is she?” he asked Octavia.

Octavia looked down. “I tried prying for information a couple of days ago, but she kicked me out of her room before I could get anything. She seems relatively normal, except for the fact that her paintings have taken a turn for the darker.”

“What do you mean?” Bellamy asked.

“Well,” Octavia said, “her paintings are usually bright. I think it’s in imitation of her father. But lately, she has been using lots of black, blues, and dark reds.”

“So she’s still upset?”

“From what I can guess, yes,” Octavia admitted sadly.

“But what can I possibly do to fix it?” Bellamy asked the open sky.

The floating clouds had no answer. 

They sat in silence for a minute or two.   
  
“You really think you like her?” Octavia finally said.

“Yes,” Bellamy said, miserable.

“Then I think I have an idea.”

 

* * *

 

It was a semi-typical Saturday night for Clarke Griffin. Her mother was in her office, locked in, answering emails, returning phone calls, or whatever she does. Clarke, on the other hand, was far away from her mother, downstairs in the basement.

But she wasn’t alone in her seclusion. As per usual, Raven was over, already choosing the movie for the night. Clarke already knew what she would pick: her favorite movie, Clueless. (Clarke laughed when she was first told this, but the look on Raven’s face shut Clarke up real quick).

What made tonight not just typical but  _ semi _ -typical, was that Raven brought over some people. She apparently had had more fun at the party than Clarke, and begged Clarke to let Wick come over until Clarke couldn’t take the whining and submitted. Wick, without asking Clarke or Raven, brought along his friend, Jasper, who brought Monty, who brought his boyfriend, Miller, who Clarke knew was good friends with Bellamy. That made conversation awkward with the latter two, so Clarke just avoided them, and they seemed to avoid any eye contact with her as well.

Which was fine. Between the popcorn, an endless supply of sodas, and a pretty damn-good movie, Clarke didn’t really need to talk to the pair. Octavia snuck downstairs sometime during the first half of the movie, and although Clarke was holding negative thoughts towards her older brother, she would never let that come between them. They were still family, technically, and Clarke adhered to promises and connections like that. No matter what happened, Clarke was proud of the fact that she always stayed true to her word.

Eventually, Clarke was snuggled up between two couples on the couch: Raven and Wick, and Miller and Monty. Despite Clueless being Raven’s choice of film, her and Wick were locking lips, making the worst noises imaginable, forcing Clarke to turn up the volume. Raven gave her the finger when Clarke pointed this out. Monty and Miller, on the other hand, were courteous, simply holding hands and sharing gazes with each other at comedic moments. 

It was Monty who was on Clarke’s immediate right, and she remembered him from some class a while back. He wasn’t memorable in the sense of she enjoyed talking to him (not to say that she didn’t, it’s just she couldn’t really recall many conversations). But the reason she  _ did  _ remember him was because, even from his innocent look, he somehow always was getting in trouble. Burning things, causing minor explosions, mixing ingredients that most  _ definitely _ should not be put together in a high school environment. It was humorous, actually, and Clarke had found that she needed that light, harmless humor in her life at the time, given Finn had also been in that class, constantly tormenting her. So now, sitting next to him on the couch, she indulged herself and decided to talk to the little man.

She nudged him on the shoulder, getting his attention. “So, how’s all of that going?” she asked, raising her eyebrows at Nathan.

Monty blushed for all he was worth, a nice, small smile forming on his face. “Good. Really good, actually,” he whispered back, as though he could spook Miller away. “To be honest, I still can’t believe I could be this happy.”

For some reason, that struck a chord with Clarke. But she kept a smile on her face. “That’s great to hear. Hold on to what you have, Monty, and savor it.” She turned away, the moment of chit-chat gone in her heart. On the big flat-screen TV, Cher and Josh were sharing a kiss as the movie ended. Why did everyone have to flaunt their relationship? 

Clarke stood up suddenly, turning off the monitor. “Who’s up for some Cards Against Humanity?” she said, raising her voice. 

That got Raven to remove her face from Wick’s; she practically jumped up from his lap. “Yes! Oh, yes! I’ll go get it!” and she raced to the cupboard. 

Clarke smirked at Wick, who looked disappointed. When he noticed Clarke, he just rolled his eyes to go seat himself on the open ground.

As Clarke and everyone else joined him, excluding Octavia, Clarke had to wonder. Why was she so on edge with all of these couples? Even the fictional ones made her blood boil. She was never one to let her emotions take over her rational thought. And yet, all her thoughts led her back to Bellamy, and how she was beginning to feel around him. Secure, happy. Herself. 

No. All of that was just conjured up by alcohol. Besides, she had other things to focus on in life besides a romantic relationship. She finally forgave him for what he had done, and she didn't need to get upset again. So she left that as is, and began to hand out White Cards to the respective players.

About an hour later, after Raven pulled out Clarke’s secret stash of whiskey, everyone was having the time of their lives. Clarke had stopped after one shot, but Monty, Miller, and Jasper were quickly on their way past tipsy. Raven had an iron liver, so while she downed drink after drink, she was still sober, but Wick, by contrast, was already smashed. It only made the next rounds funnier and funnier, as answers became more inappropriate or stopped making sense.

When everyone shoved a white card in front of her, Clarke cleared her throat. Taking them in her hand, she repeated the black card.

“When Pharaoh remained unmoved, Moses called down a Plague of-” and then all the lights cut off. Wick yelped, Monty glared at Jasper who put his hands up. 

“Wasn’t me!!” he promised, eyes wide. 

Clarke sighed. “Must be a blown fuse. I can go check it out.” She made a move to get up, when suddenly the back door swung open. Now everyone stood up, bundled together in a herd. 

“Who’s there?” Clarke called, unafraid. She stepped forward. A switch flipped, and the lights returned to reveal Octavia standing next to the door, a huge smirk on her face, all for Clarke. Clarke crossed her arms. “Seriously, O? This is childish.”

“No,” she said. “It’s brilliance.” She raised her other hand, which held a remote, to the TV, and triumphantly pressed a button. Clarke turned, startled to see Bellamy sheepishly standing in front of the TV behind the couch. He waved a hand at Clarke, smiled at Octavia, and winked at Miller, who was gaping at his friend.

The stereo started playing some sort of guitar cord. After a second Clarke recognized the tune. Bellamy raised a microphone to his mouth, the slight color or red overwhelming his dark complexion.

“You know just what to say, things that scare me. I should just walk away, but I can’t move my feet. The more that I know you, the more I want to...

Something inside me’s changed…”

Clarke stepped back into the pack. “Bellamy, what is this?” she asked. She looked at her group, to find them just at confused. The music changed from the soft guitar to electronic beats, obviously remixed to make it louder and more powerful.

“I didn’t know that I was starving ‘till I tasted you!” Bellamy sung, making his way around the couch. He threw in a spin, making a show of it. “Don’t  need no butterflies when you give me the whole damn zoo. By the way, by the way, you do things to my body… I didn’t know I was starving till I tasted you.”

Clarke remembered the car ride back from Wick’s party, when Bellamy had sung along with her. She had liked his voice then, but now… he was really trying, really singing, and he had a gift. But why exactly was he here?

Bellamy let the karaoke take over, as he took a break from the chorus. He held out a hand to Clarke, and wiggled a finger to beckon her over. Unsure, Clarke stepped forward tentatively, but someone (Clarke guessed Miller, but found out later it was Monty) shoved her, and she fell into Bellamy’s arm.

He made direct eye contact her, and once again Clarke found herself transfixed with his eyes. They just seemed like the perfect eyes to sketch.

His voice dropped lower, quieter as he sang to Clarke. “You know just to make my heart beat faster. 

Emotional earthquake,

Bring on disaster. You hit me head on, got me weak in my knees. Yeah, something inside me has changed.” He released Clarke, who sprung back. 

“Octavia, what the hell-”

“I didn’t know that I was starving ‘til I tasted you!” Bellamy belted. Raven started cheering, and Wick jumped up and down to the beat. Miller was clapping along, and Octavia was smiling wickedly, nodding back to Bellamy. “Don’t need butterflies when you give me the whole damn zoo. By the way, right away, you do things to my body,” at this, Bellamy dropped to the floor, and then stood up with his butt sticking out. Raven catcalled while Clarke blushed significantly. She also noticed that while Bellamy was beat red now, he seemed more confident, holding Clarke’s gaze the entire time, as if he was only singing to her. “I didn’t know that I was starving til I tasted you. The more that I know you, the more I want too… something inside me’s changed, I was so much younger yesterday.”

He finished with one knee on the floor, practically bowing before Clarke, looking down. The music cut out, and everyone was holding their breath. Except for Bellamy, who was panting. Clarke couldn’t find words, and after some silence, Bellamy looked up, unsure.

“Uh, should I leave then?” he asked, standing up. Finally, Clarke threw her head back, laughing hard. Bellamy looked pleased, but still hesitant. She took his hand, leading him to the card game still on the floor. 

“You can leave if you want. But would you rather join us for a hand?” 

Bellamy looked at her. “I would want nothing more,” he said, genuine.

The group sat down again, the buzz of the moment wearing off, as Octavia sat down as well. Clarke whispered to her, “You’re one devious little bitch.”

Octavia giggled, but something in Octavia’s eyes worried Clarke. “I know. But you love me.”

“That I do,” Clarke agreed, still holding hands with Bellamy. He may not be perfect, and this was not 100%, but she thought he could give him another chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I added one more chapter to my plans because I don't think I could fit the rest of the story in one last chapter.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this part of my story! Please let me know. I really love feedback.
> 
> (also s/o to Bob Ross for giving me some knowledge on painting so I don't have to make up any art techniques)


	4. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, isn't love grand? And there's nothing like love scorned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me a long time to write, and ended up being pretty long itself. I wasn't sure how to get my ideas across, and I hope it's okay!

Bellamy had recognized the godsend that had been the Griffin family when they entered his and Octavia’s lives. After mining in vein after vein without results, until they struck gold with Abby and Clarke.

But now Bellamy knew that Clarke was better than gold, better than any luxury item. That was just his unbiased opinion, mind you. Don’t get him wrong; Clarke was still difficult, stubborn, and even condescending at times, but Bellamy found all these traits endearing now, instead of annoying, as he had before.

If he was honest, he always found her personality attractive, but pushed that feeling under a facade of indignation. Now he could drop that act, and when she smiled, he could smile back, reveling in the feeling of his heart melting at her attention, at her touch.

Since the basement show, Bellamy and Clarke became inseparable. Of course they were in different classes, but when Clarke wasn’t sequestered doing homework or artwork, they made a point to be together. From eating at the local diner, taking a walk around the lake, going to the movies, or just hanging and talking, Bellamy loved every moment.

No doubt they fought constantly, but it now playful debating, not heated and angered. (“ _No,_ Bellamy, you can’t feed the ducks. It’s not good for them,” or “Vanilla? You can’t be serious, Bellamy, chocolate is obviously superior.”)

Bellamy tried to restrain himself, to not act on his rush of feelings every time he was with her. He wanted to take it slowly, to not scare her away, not make her get any sense that he only wants sex. She wasn’t like other girls he dated… heck, he had never dated before Clarke. He just fooled around, fucking left and right. So he didn’t want to ruin what they were building by pushing too much.

Clarke seemed distant at first, but opened up after she got more comfortable around him. It was strange, how well Clarke just seemed to _get_ Bellamy. He knew he wasn’t perfect by any means, but Clarke didn’t seem to try and hold him to impossible standards. Hell, they were both human after all. Whenever Bellamy got too worked up, Clarke knew to dial it back and let him calm down. Whenever she was too fixated on one area, not looking at the big picture, Bellamy could help her step back.

At the moment, Bellamy was relaxing in the passenger seat, sticking his hand out the window, relishing in the feeling of the wind passing through his fingers. Clarke, as always, stayed fixated on the road, constantly scanning for any danger.

One of Clarke’s most amusing features, Bellamy discovered, was her road rage. She never let it escalate to being to catastrophic, but her incessant cursing and shouting kept Bellamy snorting and laughing for the whole ride.

On the highway, Clarke’s hair bellowed in the wind, because she was too stubborn to tie it in a ponytail, as Bellamy recommended. Hand frozen out the window, he stared at her, lost in a moment of beauty.

Clarke’s eyes snapped to his for a split second. She smirked.

“I guess I can’t tell you to keep your eyes on the road,” she quipped.

“Yeah, that’s for the driver to do, and you’ve got that covered,” he said, smiling.  Suddenly, the car swerved, and Clarke let out another string of swears.

“Did you see that?” she shouted, gesturing to the side. “That guy just completely cut me off! He came into my lane! With no indication! With no blinker!”

“Should I be taking notes?” Bellamy asked.

“Bellamy!” Clarke slapped his leg, shaking her head.

They lapsed into silence, both over analyzing the last seconds. Bellamy could see her go inside her head, still focused on the road.

Bellamy licked his lips, turning to look out of the front window. They still haven’t even kissed, much less anything else. As much as Bellamy joked, or chided on Clarke, and knew she needed her space, Bellamy still felt rebuffed every time Clarke turned her head when he got close, every time she removed his hands from her shoulders. It wasn’t often, just when she thought she was getting to close to the edge of capturing his face with hers.

Still.

“Ah, here we are!” Clarke exclaimed, all excited. Bellamy sat up in his seat, a smile sculpting on his lips.

The Museum of Art History. But not _art_ history — history told through art. A mixture of both of their favorite subjects. Both of them could nerd out with each other. The perfect date.

“C’mon, let’s go!” Clarke already had raced to his side of the car, and pulled him out of his place. For a small girl, she had a lot of strength.

Bellamy knew that Clarke’s love of art ran deep. The moment Bellamy knew he had something special with Clarke was when they were just hanging out at her house, each of them doing homework. Bellamy was nose-deep in an essay, proofreading over and over again, and Clarke was supposed to be studying for anatomy. But instead, when he looked at her after scribbling over a whole paragraph, she was huddled over a sketchbook, unaware of her surroundings. Bellamy knew Clarke had a wall up most of the time. She seemed to prefer to disregard her feelings, usually so she could focus her energy to helping others. It was one of the things Bellamy admired about Clarke, how she could be so selfless.

But when Clarke drew, Bellamy could see her for who she truly was. A girl who might have been born into privilege, but never took it for granted. A girl who went through loss, hurt, and came out stronger because of it. She gave off a hard appearance, but she was actually soft, just a teenaged girl, on the brink of adulthood, examining and scrutinizing the world, then transcribing it through art. Pursuing her passion and love in a quiet demeanor. The light struck her hair, making it glow against her face, and Bellamy wanted to kiss her so badly. But he resisted; he knew Clarke would initiate it when she was ready again. Besides, he felt like he couldn't do anything until he told her about Finn, and every time he mustered up any courage to broach the subject, he wheedled out.

He inched his way over to Clarke's corner, curious about her artwork. He made a mistake, however, and when his shadow covered Clarke's page she immediately crushed it to her chest, wide-eyed.

“No! Not yet,” she had said, frantic. Bellamy raised his hands.

“Okay, okay. I get it.” And he left it at that. He didn’t pry about her art again, as he took that action to mean that art was her private thing, only to be shared when she wanted it to. He was a little crushed, that he hadn’t earned that right yet, but he told himself that maybe someday she would trust him enough.

Later that night, Clarke told him why art was so personal for her. They sat entwined on the floor, Clarke’s legs over his.

“My father,” Clarke had told him, “was an brilliant architect. But his true love was painting.” She turned to her easel, where she had started a rendition on a forest in flame. So one day, he quit from his firm, and made a resolution to start an art studio.” She picked at the carpet floor, and Bellamy took her hand in his. She laughed awkwardly, avoiding his eye contact. “My mother had quite a lot to say about his choice. They fought for days, so loudly. I hid in my room most of the time. But eventually, my mother resigned herself to the idea, and life went on. He became well known around here, and we remained well off as we were before.”

“Clearly.”

Clarke glared at him non-menacingly. “I knew my mom never approved. But she loved my--” her voice broke and she turned away. “She loved him so much, she set aside her feelings. Kind of an oxymoron, I guess. And it stayed like that for years, words unspoken at the table, thoughts unsaid. But then, it all fell apart when… when The Incident happened.”

Bellamy had already been told about The Incident, when her father died, hit in an everyday hit-and-run, except no hit-and-run is an everyday thing, this one in particular. His body wasn’t found until an hour after the incident, and Clarke hadn’t found out until the next day, as her mom was still internalizing what had happened. That didn’t bode well with Clarke.

“After the funeral, my mom went crazy. She tore apart his studio, removed all the remains of paint. To me, it felt like she was removing his influence out of our lives. So I didn’t tell her, but I smuggled everything I could to my room. Like I was trying to save his memory. I know it’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not,” Bellamy said softly, rubbing her back. She still wouldn’t look at him in the face.

“Anyways, for years, I didn’t tell my mom what I had done. You can only imagine her face when she knew I was still practicing all my dad had taught me.” She cleared her throat. “She hoped that after everything, I would finally turn to the medical profession permanently. But I didn’t want to lose my dad a second time. I couldn’t stand it… so I kept painting and painting, never showing it to anyone.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I only just started taking that art class this year. I sign my art with a different name.”

“Clarke--”

“I don’t like taking credit. It’s more of a self-relief thing, to remember--”

“Clarke,” Bellamy finally stopped her by placing a hand on her lap. She looked up, eyes watering. “I understand,” he said. “It’s yours and your dad’s thing. You don’t have to share it with me.”

“Yet.”

“What?”

“I don’t have to share it with you… yet,” Clarke repeated, intertwining his hands in hers. “I want to share it with you. Just, give me some time.” She sniffed, resting her head on his chest. They stayed like that for a long time, just sitting in silence in solitude.

Now there was a different energy in the air. Clarke was ecstatic, practically skipping up the front steps, pulling Bellamy behind her, who almost tripped and fell.

“Clarke, please slow down!” Bellamy begged, dodging the door as it closed behind Clarke. She sighed, not turning back.

“Bellamy, there are _actual_ statues from the Roman Empire here! Is that not super-amazing?”

“Very super-amazing,” he agreed.  But he felt as though his arm was going to be ripped from its socket, and he told Clarke so.

“Fine,” she retorted, dropping his hand. She then sprinted away, flashing her ticket, whizzing past the front desk.

“Sorry,” Bellamy told the attendant, flashing a smile. She just shook her head, waving him past. Bellamy had already been through the exhibit three times, but the Roman Empire was his favorite era, and he always could learn more about it.

He strode past the first room, the second, and the third (though it was hard), until he found Clarke. She was gazing a wall-sized painting of a battle scene. There were only a dozen or so main boats in the foreground, the background, the sea was roaring at it tore at what seemed like hundreds of other ships, with sailors frantically trying to remain in the combat.

“Battle of Actium,” Bellamy deduced, transfixed by the glorious scene.

Clarke looked at him, a question in her eyes. “I don’t see a title anywhere; there is supposed to be a plaque somewhere.” She proceeded to look around.

“I don’t need a plaque to tell me what this is,” Bellamy said, shaking his head. “It’s obvious.”

“Ha! Here it is,” Clarke said from behind the corner. She popped back around to take his hand. “You were right. How did you know?”

“Look--the configuration of the boats. One set of smaller boats surrounding a navy of bigger warships. In the distance, a standing army watching futily. And here: can you see this small figure? It’s clearer than the rest.”

Clarke leaned in. “Yeah.”

“That’s Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa.”

Clarke gave him a look of disbelief. “I can’t believe you actually know that.”

Bellamy blushed, but kept going. “He was a great war general, first emperor Augustus’, still known back then as Octavian, and is known for his great military victories. One of which, and the most important was this one: the famous battle held at sea, against Mark Antony’s fleet—The Battle of Actium.”

“Which was?...” Clarke prompted.

“The war that was the turning point at which the Roman Republic fell, giving way to the Roman Empire.”

“Wow.” Clarke simply looked at the painting, digesting this information. Bellamy knew that while she enjoyed the history behind the depiction, she was more interested in the art styles that showed the feeling, the atmosphere of the people, and all that.

“I’m guessing that Octavian won, huh?”

Bellamy laughed. “Yes, yes he did. Did you get the from the painting?”

“No, common sense. But you want to know what this painting _does_ tell  me?”

“Please.”

Clarke then dove into the design, coloring, and landscaping of the painting, describing how each contributed to a different part of the artist's’ interpretation and thoughts of the scene.

After she almost turned blue and passed out on the floor, Bellamy walked them to one of his favorite pieces. It was a recreation of a bust of the Emperor Vespasian, one of Bellamy’s personal heroes.

“Who is this?” Clarke asked, bending forward to inspect the bust.  

“You can’t be serious,” Bellamy said, flat-voiced. “That is Vespasian, the last emperor of the age of four emperors during the year of 69 BCE, the foundation of the Flavian dynasty.”

“Sounds like a real bore,” Clarke commented.

Bellamy choked. “What-no, Clarke-”

“I’m joking, Bell. I’ve heard of him. But tell me more.”

“Oh. Well, in Suetonius’ book _The Lives of the Caesars,_ Vespasian is the third to last emperor he writes about, and one of the most highly regarded ones as well. Despite from being from low birth, he rose up the ranks of the Roman military, standing the change from Nero, to Galba, Otho, and Vitellius. But he was better than all of them.”

“Really?”

“Yup. He always stayed true to his empire, always listened to his advisors, never holding grudges. In fact, he brushed off insults with jokes, diffusing any tension in the atmosphere. He was truly great. He stopped a second full-out civil war from breaking out in the Roman Empire, bringing about a second time of peace and prosperity. He was old when he took the role, but had the respect of the senators, the generals of his army, and his people. He was amazing.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Clarke said, wrapping an arm around him.

“Which part? The old age?”

“No, the amazingness, and making jokes all the time.”

“What about the other part?”

“ _What_ other one?”

“You know. The part of low birth.”

Clarke stepped away. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bellamy locked gazes with fake Vespasian, trying to draw strength from the great ruler. “I mean, Clarke, that Vespasian came from an insubstantial family. He was unimportant. But unlike me, he rose up the social class to become great.”

“Okay, you’ve lost me.”

“I want to be like Vespasian. I want to prove to people that I am more than a cast-out lowlife,” he said. “But I can’t. I’m just… me. And I am not worthy of you.”

He couldn’t believe what he had just said. He didn’t really know where it came from, either. He always looked up to Vespasian, and it was true, he wanted to lead a life like his, becoming someone great despite their circumstances, but the part about Clarke was something he hadn’t even admitted to himself yet.

“Bellamy, look at me.” He didn’t. “Bellamy, _please_ look at me.” He begrudgingly turned his head. She softly took one of his cheeks in her hands.

“Bellamy. You are the smartest, most charming, sexy, and hilarious person I know.”

“Sexy?”

“Shut it. But you are also the most idiotic, stupid, moronic, and ridiculous person I know!”

“Ouch. This took a turn for the worse.”

“Just listen to me! You cannot compare yourself with a freaking Roman _emperor_ , Bellamy. That will kill you. Give yourself a chance. You do exemplary in school, you make me laugh, and you have a strange aptitude to remember the most pointless facts about history.”

“They are not pointless,” Bellamy grumbled.

“And even though you come from a ‘low birth’ as you call it, it doesn’t matter squat to me. No one cares about that anymore. Most importantly, _I_ don’t care about that.” She wrapped her hand around his waist, bringing him close. “I am the one that doesn’t deserve you. You are sweet, despite what you say, and you are always there to listen to me rant. You have a great heart, Bellamy, and that’s what matters. That’s what made Vespasian stand out.”

“He also had a great mind,” Bellamy added.

“Well, only the truly great can have both,” Clarke joked. “Besides, I think I’ve already complimented you on that.” Her eyes fluttered down, and she cleared her throat. “Bellamy, I know I’ve had my guard up for a while. But you’ve given me no reason to ever doubt you and your intentions.” Bellamy’s heart squeezed, at the mixed truth and lies about that statement. “You’ve been amazing, and… I…” she closed her eyes, looked up to Bellamy. Her eyes shone with clarity, the endless seas moving at a million miles per minute. But that seemed to stop and slow down, fully experiencing this moment.

Clarke closed the gap between them, bringing her hands into Bellamy’s hair, running her fingers through the curls. Bellamy stepped back, surprised, but brought Clarke with him. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if Clarke was afraid she was making a mistake--not because she wasn’t sure of what she was doing, but because she wasn’t sure that Bellamy wanted this.

But oh, did he want this. He pushed back, opening his mouth more, relishing in the taste that was Clarke Griffin. His hands drew up her back, one finger getting hitched in her shirt, making it ride up a bit. Clarke tried to pull his face to his, which was impossible. She made a satisfied noise which made his mind go crazy. Finally, he drew back slowly, not opening his eyes for a second after their lips parted.

Their foreheads touching, Bellamy tried to catch his breath. “That was nice,” he commented.

Clarke laughed, embarrassed. “Yeah, it was.”

Bellamy looked at Clarke, who was smiling meekly. Bellamy didn’t hold back; he let his happiness burst through his face. His smile was so big it almost hurt, but it was the good hurt, the one that told you that you were alive, and life was worth living. Clarke returned it, transitioning from her shy smile to one that almost matched his.

He took her hand, leading her to the next piece of art. “C’mon. Can I tell you more stories?”

Clarke squeezed back. “I wouldn’t want anything else.”

 

* * *

 

It was a bit weird, being as happy as she felt. Clarke never thought, never _thought_ that she could feel this way anymore. Even when she was with Finn, after her dad died, life took a distinct grayish color, and it didn’t lift until that day at the museum with Bellamy.

It was bullshit what Bellamy had said about his low birth, not being worthy of her, like they were in the fucking medieval period. It had made her so angry, but she couldn’t show it. Well she did, but in a way she didn’t think she could muster.

She didn’t want to dwell on that moment. She wanted to go back to the present, where she sat in her basement, watching Gilmore Girls with Bellamy. She stretched out her legs across the length of the couch, her head resting in the lap of Bellamy. He absently pet at her, intensely scrutinizing the TV show.

“How can Lorelai be so blind? Luke is clearly in love with her! The whole town knows it! Rory knows it! I know it!”

“I thought you said this show was stupid,” Clarke said, holding back a laugh.

“Yeah,” Bellamy said very unconvincingly, “but Lorelai is stupider.”

“M-hmm,” Clarke said, raising her eyebrow.

“Oh, hush,” Bellamy said, reaching down to tickle her belly. Clarke squirmed, yelping, and tried to sit up. Bellamy held her down, ruthlessly not letting her escape.

“Bellamy!” Clarke shouted, trying to pry his hands off of her, to no use. She twisted her body, flipping to be on her stomach. Bellamy stayed true to his challenge, still tickling her.

Then Clarke had the best idea to make him stop. Once she had turned, her face was the the perfect place, so she lunged forward, nudged her way underneath his shirt, and starting kissing his abs. Bellamy froze, transfixed, and Clarke chuckled, continuing to press her face against his hard stomach. She’d only been this aggressive with him once or twice before, and she had to admit, she always enjoyed his reaction. Her positioning was awkward at the moment, but she didn’t care. Not at all.

“Clarke,” Bellamy groaned, removing his hands from her body. She removed her face from under his shirt, pouting.

“What? You didn’t like that?”

Bellamy looked rebuffed. “Well, no,” he started to say.

Clarke cut him off. “Good.” She climbed on his lap, cradling his hips in hers. Putting her hands on the couch cushions behind his head, she smashed her mouth on his, all fervor. Lorelai and Emily were spitting venom at each other on the TV.

Bellamy reciprocated without hesitation, bringing his hand to her body once again, up and down her back, on her ass, then cradling her head. With every kiss, Clarke surged forward again, making Bellamy sink into the soft couch. She lowered to his neck, kissing him roughly, nibbling here and there. Bellamy moaned, then forced her mouth back to his, seizing her lips in his.

It wasn’t enough; Clarke needed more contact. Moving her hands southward, she took his shirt hem, pulling it up to reveal his toned body. She trailed her fingertips over his chest, his stomach, and she could feel him shiver underneath. Clarke loved that part.

“Clarke,” Bellamy mumbled below her. She ignored him. “Clarke,” Bellamy said, more insistent, pushing her away. “What are you doing?”

Clarke gave him a dumb look. “Is that a trick question?”

“No,” Bellamy said. “It’s just… are you sure this is okay with you?”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “No, I just want to undress you to make myself uncomfortable.”

“Undress me?”

“Yes, now, cooperate,” she demanded, pulling off his shirt for him. Bellamy relented.

“Yes, ma’am.” Once it was off, he threw it to the side, but he still paused.

Clarke slapped his bare chest. “You’re being ridiculous, Bell.” Trying to reassure him, she resumed kissing him. She wanted his tongue on hers, his smell on her. Bellamy submitted, meeting her halfway, hands crawling up her sides, begging for more. Clarke’s mind felt distant, and she no longer had control. Her hips rolled into his, where she could feel a bulge under his pants. She was going insane with desire.

Taking charge, Bellamy held Clarke with one hand, leaning her back on the couch so he was on top of her. With more leverage now, the kisses were harder, and Clarke could sense her lips getting swollen. Raven will give her shit tomorrow for that, but Clarke couldn’t give a rat’s ass. She rocked her hips up to him, and a low growl resonated in Bellamy’s throat.

Bellamy was keeping their bodies at a distance, so he wouldn't crush her. That didn’t bode well with Clarke, but she didn’t want to not be able to breathe (any less then she couldn’t right now), so instead she deftly removed Bellamy’s belt. He didn’t notice. At least until Clarke, now able to do so with a loosened waistband, shoved her hands down his pants, grabbing at his boxers, feeling his toned thighs.

Clarke could hear Bellamy’s breath hitch, even as he kissed her more deeply.

The heat in the room was rising. Clarke removed her hands, and thrusted her hips upward, so she could wrap her legs around his waist. Bellamy was strong, but her weight overtook him, and he came crashing down on her.

Unfortunately, he lost his balance on the couch, and he toppled off the seat, rolling onto the floor, Clarke still clinging to him.

Once on the ground, they released each other, breathing heavily. Both staring at the ceiling, the only sound for a minute were their deep inhales and exhales.

Then, Clarke laughed. A loud, full-bodied, joyful laugh. Bellamy joined in, lifting himself on one elbow to get a good look at her, messy hair and all.

“And just what is so funny? That I probably now have five bruises to match the hickie forming on my neck?”

Clarke kept laughing. “No!” She rolled over, a content smile on her face. “I just really, really like you, Bellamy Blake.”

Bellamy smiled. “I really, really like you back, Clarke Griffin.”

Clarke gazed him, wondering what really made her fall for him. The douche who wasn’t a douche, who actually was a huge, endearing nerd. The word _love_ crossed her mind, but she didn’t bring it to her lips.

She reached up to brush his hair out of his face. She wanted a better look at his freckles.

“You haven’t smoothed back your hair in a while,” she commented.

“Yeah,” said Bellamy, “I stopped when I noticed you noticed me more when it was curly.”

Clarke snorted. “So conceited!” She kissed him deftly, then returned to her laying down position. “But maybe true.”

“Ha! So you only like me for my looks! I knew it! I am crushed!”

“Stop being so dramatic, you knew this,” Clarke said, shoving him.

“Oh, woe is me!” Bellamy cried, clutching his heart.

What an idiot.

 

* * *

 

It was a Saturday evening. Clarke sat sideways on a chair with her largest drawing pad, legs over the armrest, working on a sketch, minding her own business, when her mother’s shrewd voice broke her concentration.  

“Just where do you think _you're_ going?” Abby said, her annunciation giving off a sense of suspicion.

Clarke looked up to reveal Octavia, decked out in a tight red-pink cocktail dress, hair up in a ponytail, with her makeup done, smoky eye and all. Her hand was in the door handle, just about to open it, the other hand holding a pair of black heels.

For a split second she looked like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar, but she quickly recovered. 

“Out with the girls,” she said, unwrinkling her dress.

Abby raised her eyebrows in a very Clarke fashion, which made the aforementioned girl a bit upset.

“Octavia, we both know you don't have any girl friends. They drive you too crazy. Now, what's the real reason?”

Octavia sighed, dropping a hand to her hip. “Fine! I was going to go out on a dinner date. Nothing else.”

“A date?” Abby repeated. “What happened to the house rule? Did it suddenly disappear? Or did you just conveniently forget that it existed?”

“No, I didn't forget,” Octavia said. “The rule’s preconditions for me to go out, however, have been fulfilled.”

Clarke froze. It'd been a awhile since she and Bellamy got together, but she still hasn't mentioned this to her mother.

“Excuse me?”

“Yep. Clarke actually found someone perfect for her, actually. And this really great guy then asked me out, and I really want to go, so please?”

Abby turned to Clarke, complete doubt written all over her face. “I don't believe this. You've been seeing someone without my knowledge?”

Octavia looked up from her shoes, surprise on her face. It turned from disbelief, to anger, to resignation. Clarke knew what was going through her head. _Why hasn't she told her mother yet? Does Bellamy know that? Why would she hide it? Is she ashamed? I better tell Bell. And Clarke is going to wish she was dead._

Clarke didn't want Octavia to feel the need to have that conversation with her brother. Nor did she want to confront Octavia about this. She knew Bellamy would take it the wrong way, and it could take an ugly turn.

Swinging her legs around, Clarke sat up straight in her armchair. “Yes, mom, I have. I-”

“Clarke, honey, what are you thinking? Why don't I know about this? Who is he?”

“Mom-”

“Is he some guy you met in art class? Please don’t tell me he’s filling up your brain with thoughts of art school or something, a joint career in painting. It’s not logical.”

“He’s not an artist, mom.”

“Well, Clarke, is he a trouble-maker? What does he do in his spare time? What college is he-”

“MOM!” Clarke shouted, slamming her hand on the armrest. “Will you please just let me get a word in edgewise?” She stood up to face her mother. “I didn’t tell you, because it just never came up. Maybe at first, I wasn’t sure about it, but then I was, and then I felt like I didn’t have to tell you everything about my life. It’s not like you ask, always spending every waking moment thinking and talking about the hospital.”

“Clarke, you shouldn’t be off with some boy-”

“He is not some boy!” Clarke shouted. “He is amazing, kind, understanding, and I might even be falling in love with him!”

Abby stood dumbfounded. “Excuse me?” she said, threats lacing her voice.

“I said what I said mom. I can see myself falling in love with him, and I will or won’t despite what you say. I don’t know if you will approve or not, but I don’t care. If you really want to know who it is, I’ll tell you, but you have to know that you will have no control over what I do with him.”

A stare down commenced for the next minute or so. Octavia stood at the door still, holding her breath.

Finally, Abby released all the tension in her shoulders, defeated. “Clarke, I would be honored to know the name of the boy you have graced your attention on.”

Clarke opened her mouth, but nothing seemed to come out. She couldn't make her mom understand how she was feeling with just Bellamy’s name. She knew her mom would be skeptic on him, even if she took his sister, he still as a screw up in her mind.

So instead, she held up her sketchbook. She had been working on a drawing of Bellamy himself, sitting on the floor under a window, reading a history book. She was trying to perfect the way his eyebrows creased when a story had all of his attention, and he was transported to the ancient world. Only half of his freckles were drawn in; the rest still needed to be added. He had so many. It was both longer and wider than a normal piece of paper, so Bellamy’s features could be detailed out more easily and more accurately.

Abby took the sketchbook daintily, as if it might be breakable. “Bellamy?”

Clarke nodded. She saw Octavia staring at the drawing, and hoped she wouldn’t tell Bellamy about it. She wanted to surprise him with the finished piece, when she went over it with water color.

“Yes, mom. Bellamy.”

Abby lowered the drawing pad. “Oh. Well, he wouldn’t be my first choice, but I guess you could do worse.” Clarke rolled her eyes. “Thanks, mom.” Taking back the drawing, she sat back down to resume her work.

Abby turned to Octavia. “So who is this guy you want to go out with?”

Clarke sighed, thankful her own interrogation was over.

 

* * *

 

Octavia’s date had been _amazing_ , after she convinces Abby that Lincoln wasn’t some crack-head, tattooed-up pedophile (Abby’s words). They had had an amazing time at the restaurant of Lincoln’s choice, and then he had driven her back to her house with a good-night kiss.

A lot of their conversation was about Bellamy. Lincoln felt awful for how he set him up; he just wanted to go out with Octavia as soon as he could, and was blinded by his need. Octavia didn’t mind, but it bothered him how dishonest and deceitful his actions had been.

Octavia let him know that Bellamy just needed time to cool off, and will eventually be thankful for their intervention. But she’d let Bellamy know that.

So that’s what she was headed to do right after she changed from her form-fitting dress to sweatpants. Taking Abby’s car, she drove straight to her brother’s house. Upon arrival, she snatched the key from the fake rock, and made herself out home until Bellamy emerged from the shower.

Pants riding low and shirtless, as he tried his hair with a hand towel he walked over to the fridge and started drinking some milk right out of the carton.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that’s unsanitary?”

Bellamy jumped back, spilling milk down his front. Once he spotted Octavia on the couch, he scowled.

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, big brother. Clean yourself up, put a shirt on, and come sit!” she pat the seat next to her.

“Be right there.”

After Bellamy was presentable, he joined her. He glanced at his watch, tapped his foot.

Octavia continued watching the program on the TV until it turned black.

“Bellamy!” Octavia complained.

Bellamy threw the remote on the couch. “Octavia, you told me to sit down five minutes ago. What do you want?”

“Fine, since you are being so insistent,” she muttered, folding one leg under herself. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh.” Bellamy visibly calmed down. “Sure.”

So in a very one-sided conversation, Octavia told him about her date, telling Bellamy to be quiet when she mentioned Lincoln’s name, and finally ending with her asking if he would be open to meeting him again.

Bellamy clenched his jaw. “I guess.”

“Yay!” Octavia captured her brother in her arms, smothering him in an embrace.

“Okay, okay, O, I get it, I’m awesome,” he joked as they parted.

“Eh. But I know someone else who thinks you are,” Octavia said, eyebrows jumping up and down on her forehead.

Bellamy turned the TV back on, pointedly avoiding her gaze. “You know, it’s getting late and I just want to watch _Planet Earth_. Which we both you know you hate. So maybe you should get going.”

“She was going on and one about you… would have gone forever,” Octavia edged on.

Finally Bellamy bit. “Did she really?” he asked, a small smile on his face.

Octavia nodded, smirking. “Good choice. She’s a tough lover, but a loyal lover. I hope you know that.”

“I think I’ve got it down.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

Bellamy clicked to his recordings. Before he selected _Planet Earth_ , he lowered the remote.

 “Why did I come up?”

“Excuse me?” Octavia asked.

“Why were you guys talking about me in such detail?”

“Oh,” Octavia said, taking a scoop of M&Ms on the coffee table, “Abby was wailing on Clarke since she hadn’t told her about you yet, and then Clarke blew up in her face--”

“Wait, what?” Bellamy interrupted.

“Bell, I know what you’re going to say, but Clarke defended you to her mom, talking about how great and wonderful you are.”

“But she hadn’t told her mother about us until _today_?” he asked.

Octavia could see his blood start to boil. “Bellamy, listen to me. She didn’t have a reason for not telling her, and only had positive things to say about you, and you should have seen the most amazing pic-”

Bellamy stood up, throwing a pillow on the ground. “You make me sound like a dog!” he roared. Octavia stood up to challenge him.

“You are so ridiculous! That is not what I meant, nor what Clarke was trying to say. Will you just listen to me? She is obviously head over heels for you! I mean, that drawing of you she was—”

A soft knock at the door made the siblings fall silent.

“Hello?”

Octavia’s blood ran cold when she heard Clarke’s voice. She whipped her head to Bellamy.

“That’s why you wanted me out of here?”

“Yes! But now, I’m not so sure!”

“Bellamy, get a hold of yourself! You are acting insane!”

“No, I will _not_ —”

“Octavia, is that you?” Clarke asked from behind the door. “I didn’t know you would be here, I don’t have enough take-out…”

Octavia stormed to the door, yanking it open. Clarke stood there, overalls and all, holding two bags of Chinese. She immediately picked up on the tense posture of the two Blakes, and she pursed her lips.

“Is something wrong?”

Bellamy threw her hands up into the air. “Oh, I don’t know, Clarke, you tell me! I thought you weren’t ashamed of me!”

“I’m not!” she exclaimed, stepping into his place. “Why on Earth—”

“Then why was tonight the first time your mother discovered that we’re dating?”

Clarke just stood there, silent, mouth hanging open. She looked at Octavia, crestfallen.

Octavia had the audacity to look ashamed. Mouthing _sorry_ , she scooted past the door, ran to the car, and drove away as soon as possible.

 

* * *

 

Clarke’s hair flew past her face, Bellamy’s voice was that powerful.

She let him call her a liar, perjurer, a phony. He confessed how hurt he was at what Clarke had done. Then he resumed pacing, coming up with reasons why she should never had told her mother. He insulted himself, told himself down, and when he ran out of energy, he rested his elbow on the kitchen counter, face down.

“I just can’t believe it,” he said. He looked up. “I’m sorry I yelled you, but I just can’t believe you would do this to me.”

Clarke stepped forward. “Bellamy, you’re right. It wasn’t okay that I didn’t tell her. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “No, I deserved it. You’re the one that’s right, I’m not good enough for you, especially after what I did.”

“That’s not true! I-what? ‘What you did’? What are you talking about?”

Bellamy’s face turned pale, his dark pigment fighting the affect with no avail. “Forget it,” he muttered, walking past Clarke.

She cut him off. So help her god, she will find out why he had been holding back on her all this time, always asking her if she was sure about them, always wondering if he was good enough for her. “What happened, Bellamy? Tell me?”

“No!” he tried to push past her.

Clarke slapped his hand away. “Bellamy!”

He gritted his teeth. “I used you!” he finally admitted. “I used you, Finn used you, we all did.”

Clarke stepped back, confused. What was he talking about?

“ ‘All?’ ”

Bellamy blinked. “Just-forget I said anything.”

Clarke gasped. “There’s no way that’s going to happen, until you tell me everything!”

“No, I don’t want to. Just, I think you should take your take-out and go!” Bellamy raised his voice again, stringing his hand through his hair. Clarke took one, trying to understand.

“I will not leave. Please, talk to me!”

“You want to talk? Fine, I’ll talk. Octavia? You know her? Well, she wanted to date. But your mom, Abby, well, she wouldn’t allow it until you dated, right? Well, she asks me to take you out, but I had self-worth, so I refused. Then Finn talks to Lincoln, who gets the idea in his head that he wants to fuck my sister. Lincoln takes the chance to put the idea in _Finn’s_ head that if can pay someone to take out you, Clarke, he will be able to deflower my dear sister. So, without telling me that part, Finn asks me to just take you out, once, and he gives me like two hundred dollars, okay? Which is a lot. So I take it, and talk to you. And Octavia, also having self-worth, turns down that fuckwad Finn, and dates Lincoln.”

Clarke knew her mind was a well-tuned one. But it wasn’t tuned for this, she wasn’t comprehending what Bellamy was saying. It couldn’t be true.

“And then, and then, you turn out to be exactly how Octavia described you: amazing, wonderful, smart, and I did this horrible thing, and I let you convince myself that I _do_ deserve you, that I can be good, and guess what?” Bellamy laughs heartlessly. “It turns out that you really _are_ embarrassed of me, despite what you said. Despite what you may think you feel like, deep down, you really don’t see yourself with me for a long period of time.”

Clarke finally dropped the food bags on the floor, fighting tears. This was too much, it sounded too much like some stupid movie. Clarke had come to care for this guy, _her_ guy. It couldn’t really have all started because someone wanted to sleep with Octavia.

She shook her head. “No way. This is all a lie. I don’t believe you.”

“Believe it, Clarke! You’re such a stuck-up rich brat that no one wants to spend any waking moment with you unless they are monetarily compensated!”

Clarke blinked, avoiding his gaze. Is that was he really thought? None of their time together meant anything? That was bullshit.

But so was his story.

“You know I hate Finn.”

“And he hates you,” Bellamy retorted.

Clarke took a deep breath. She had told Bellamy the whole Finn story. He knew how much he hurt her.

But it was nothing like the hurt boiling in her chest now, that cleaved her insides in two.

“So the man that I have a mutual hatred with paid you to take me out.”

“Yep!”

Her blood was on fire. Her head was an inferno.

And her heart was torn.

She let herself finally cry, ignoring the waterworks, simply letting them pour and pour.

“Bellamy Blake, I cannot comprehend this!” she shouted, giving him a piece of her mind. “I trusted you, confided in you, let my walls down for you!” She dug her finger into his chest, but he still looked stubbornly past her shoulder. “And like it or not, we had a fucking good time! You don’t have to admit it, I thought it on your face! Maybe you were forced to breathe in my vicinity at first, and I’m _so terribly sorry_ about that, but in the end you got used to it! Hell, you enjoyed it!” she sniffed, the watering of her eyes causing a simple physiological effect on her nose causing nasal secretion. The sound made Bellamy look at her, see her eyes, her hurt. She didn’t know what he saw from that, but he finally looked upset as well, not just angry.

Clarke felt all her fight fade away. “Goodbye, Bellamy.”

She turned, closing the door behind her, even when she heard a soft, _Clarke, wait_. But she was done waiting. It was time to just be.

 

* * *

 

Clarke took her now free time to fully focus on her artwork, on her show steadily arriving. It drove Abby insane, how much Clarke locked herself in her room. She was painting, drawing, sketching, redoing, and apparently ignoring all of her studies. Which was crazy. Clarke was still maintaining straight A’s, because as _if_ she would let feelings get in the way of her academics. Clarke was never that way, and her mother should know this.

Since the whole Bellamy thing happened, Clarke got herself back together. She let him rip her open raw, and she wouldn’t let that happen again. 

 But despite what she told herself, and tried to convince herself, Clarke knew that she still cared from him. And that killed her inside.

No matter. Clarke had to focus.

“Clarke!” Octavia came bursting through her door, guns blaring. “It’s time to talk!”

Clarke sighed, putting down her pencil. But she remained at her desk, not budging. “Octavia, this is not the time.”

“It is always the time.” Octavia grabbed the back of Clarke’s chair, dragging it next to the bed, so when she jumped on it she could face Clarke.

“Octavia, I really don’t feel like talking. I was in the zone.”

“You’ll get in the zone again,” Octavia waved her hand in the air.

“Look, Octavia, I’ve had enough talking with a Blake to last a lifetime. I really just want to sketch.”

“Could we talk about said sibling?” Octavia asked.

Clarke punched herself internally for even bringing himself up.

“Why, Octavia? So you can come up with more ammo to further ruin our relationship? Because let me tell you, that’s impossible.”

Octavia looked stunned. “So, you guys are?...”

Clarke nodded, looking out the window. “Yep. He hates me now, so I’m pretty sure that we’re through. Thanks for that.”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about, Clarke!” Octavia sat up. “I am really sorry, I never meant to-”

“To what? Destroy something that meant a whole lot to me? To, once you got what you wanted, to dispose of me once you used me?”

“What?”

“Yeah, Bellamy told me everything. How you coerced him indirectly to go out with me. He never was actually interested in me. He was just in it for the money.”

“Clarke,” Octavia said, voice low, “I never thought it would go this far, and I never would have imagined you would get hurt like this.”

“What did you think would happen when I found out? That I would laugh? Be flattered?” Clarke asked, voice dry. “You never consider the consequences, O, and this is what happens when you don’t care about others in your life.”

“Now that’s unfair!” Octavia leapt from the bed. “I do care about you! How could you say that?”

Clarke just stared at her folded hands that rested in her lap. “I wasn’t referring to myself, I was referring to Bellamy.”

“Oh.” Octavia sat back down. “That was kinda misleading.”

Clarke nodded. “I said such horrible things. Things he deserved to hear, mind you.”

“I’m sure,” O agreed.

“But I still feel awful. And… and despite what I tell myself,” she looked up the ceiling, trying to dry her eyes. “I still miss him. How can I miss him after all he did to me?”

Octavia pulled Clarke from her chair, holding her in her arms. “Because you know that he was genuine with you. He did, _does_ , adore you.”

Clarke finally let herself cry. “Then how could he say those things to me?”

“You know why,” Octavia said, rubbing circles on her back. “Bell can be a hothead, letting his emotions take control of his actions.”

“Yeah, I know,” Clarke said, resting her head on Octavia's shoulder.

“I think you should talk to him.”

Clarke sprung up from Octavia. “I don’t know…”

“Clarke, it’s killing him, not being with you anymore,” Octavia begged. “Please. You need to see him. He’s moping, and I can’t even get him to talk about Roman history.”

“That’s pretty bad,” Clarke agreed, “but I don’t think I can see him without… I don’t even know. It just makes me so upset, and I hate being upset. I’m okay just resigning myself. So thanks for coming in, but I still need time.”

Octavia sighed. “Can I at least hang in here? Your mother is driving me insane, lecturing me about my math grade.”

“Yeah, sure. You know, as I have offered before, I don’t mind tutoring you. I like math.”

“Freak, and I know. Maybe later,” Octavia said, as she always did. She jumped off the mattress, taking a look at Clarke’s sketches. “These are nice. But I thought you already had all the stencil work done for your collection?”

“I did,” Clarke said joining her. “But I had to scrap one, so I need something to fill the hole. But nothing is working.”

“Which one did you scrap?” O asked, rummaging around Clarke’s space.

Clarke startled. “Uh, it doesn’t matter, just--”

Octavia found the paper, pulling out from underneath a pile of clean clothes. “Ha! I’m sure it’s…” she dropped off, realizing what it was.

Clarke stood up slowly, taking the finished work from Octavia’s hands. “Yeah.”

It was the sketch of Bellamy, now painted over. The watercoloring had worked perfectly, the curls of his hair washing into his skin tone, causing prefect shadowing the best contemplative look Clarke could muster from her artistic abilities. The lighting from the window shone down on him, casting a light blue on his figure.

“It’s beautiful,” Octavia breathed.

Clarke laughed. “Don’t let Bellamy hear you compliment him like that!”  
Octavia shoved her on the shoulder. “That’s not what I meant! You’re so talented, Clarke.”

“Thanks.”

“But I understand why you don’t want to showcase this anymore.”

“Yep.”

“Have any other ideas?”

“Yep.”

“Can I see them?”

Clarke nodded, thankful for the change of subject. “I would love to share them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last part is next! As always, thanks for reading.


	5. Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy and Clarke haven't spoken in what feels like ages, but Clarke has other things on her mind: her art. Will Bellamy and Clarke find a way to fight past their stubbornness and reconcile?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Yes, it's been a while. That's because initially I decided to abandon this piece, but then I got a PM asking for me to finish it. I tried to do 10 Things, The 100, and the fic itself justice, and this is what I ended up with. I hope you all enjoy it.

It was finally the day of Clarke’s exhibition. The school’s gymnasium was transformed into a full-scale art gallery, classes separated, types of artwork subcategorized, genres of pieces sorted into different areas of the room. Clarke was placed with the AP Art students, then the painting section. Her, along with five other students, took on the task to take on an area of study and try to portray it through painting. 

As she straightened a frame, Clarke tried not to think about a certain someone. It had been two weeks now; two weeks without a word, a text, a call. And Clarke wasn’t going to be the one to initiate communication. Bellamy was the one in the wrong, using her for monetary gain. She knew that they hadn’t been friends, but the fact that he even took the deal caused her deep pain. Even so, she knew she still cared for him, and that hurt the most.

Whatever. The piece being balanced, she stepped away, then took a look at her surroundings. By her side was Maya, setting up her works of scenery. Clarke walked over as Maya set up an easel to place a rather larger piece. 

The girl waved at Clarke as she approached, but before either could get a word in, the speakers announced the opening of the doors in five minutes and for everyone to be ready. 

“I’m done, so I can help?” Clarke offered. Maya nodded graciously, and Clarke let her direct where the paintings were to be set up. Focusing on placing the last one, Clarke didn’t realize when people started pouring into the gym.

The next hour was a blur as dozens and dozens of people walked, discussed, and debated about the artwork. Clarke saw a lot of foot traffic, many people wondering what her inspiration was, what her work environment was like, and what she hoped to achieve after graduation. Clarke made up answers, still not decided on much of her future, despite her wanting to pursue something in art. 

She was exhausted, and stepped away from her exhibit for a moment to go to the snack stand. Although hired young art students were constantly keeping it stocked, there was a significant lack of Oreos or Goldfish, so Clarke had to settle with nabbing a whole bunch of grapes. Suddenly a hand slapped Clarke on the shoulder, making her jump. Grapes fell on the floor, rolling to who-knows-where. 

“Raven!” Clarke exclaimed! 

Her best friend gave her a sad smile. “Hey, sorry I’m late, soccer practice went a little over our scheduled time. How’s the exhibition going?” 

Clarke sighed, picking up the fruit on the ground. Raven walked to the trash can with her. “Pretty well, actually. A lot people have commented on my work, and some art scouts are telling me to bring certain pieces to my college visits to possibly get a scholarship.”

“That’s great!” Raven exclaimed.

“Yeah! My mom hasn’t shown up yet, which is a plus,” Clarke added, laughing. 

Raven punched Clarke in the shoulder, shaking her head as they walked back to Clarke’s station. Raven took the opportunity to critique her work.

“So, what was your theme?” 

Clarke looked down at her plate, flicking a grape. “Feelings. I was trying to convey certain feelings through my paintings. People say that it’s hard to put some feelings into words, and I’ve found that to be true. But when you try and convey something through artwork, it’s a lot easier to get across the emotion one is experiencing. At least, that was my goal.”

Raven nodded, gazing at each piece. She stopped in front of a waterfall piece, the colors dulled to grays, the foliage around the scene drooping. “What’s this one?”

“Depression,” Clarke explained. “It’s how I felt when my father died. Everything had life, but was missing the spark that make it  _ alive _ .”

“I can get behind that.” 

They spent the next couple of minutes going over Clarke’s other pieces, until they reached the end of the series. 

“And this?”

“Anger.” Clarke offered nothing else as she glared at her last piece. It was a hand grasping the ground, solid concrete, crushing the sidewalk with its force. Cracks formed around the hand as it kept squeezing. 

“Seems a bit more… I don’t want to be mean, but rushed, compared the rest,” Raven noted.

Clarke sighed. “That’s because it was. I had another piece lined up, but I scrapped it recently. It… didn’t fit anymore.”

Raven side-eyed Clarke, who was looking at the door, obviously pining for a certain someone. She turned to her friend. 

“Clarke, I know you don’t want to talk about it, but—”

“Artists! It’s time for the final presentations! Please select one of your pieces, and bring it to the front!” The loudspeaker announced.

“Well, look at that, gotta run.”

“Clarke!” Raven tried to stop her, but she dashed away, grabbing her waterfall painting. 

She rushed to the stage, lining up behind the other members of her art class. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, nervous for her presentation. Maya went first, gushing about her statue and how it represented the stagnation of society. Then Charlotte, then Gabriel. Clarke’s turn was nearing, and her heart was pounding. 

“Clarke.” 

She spun around, startled by the sound of her name. Abby was behind her, smiling at her daughter with sad eyes.

“Mom?” Clarke immediately started to tense up, unsure of the situation. “Why are you here?”

Abby blinked. “You’re my daughter, Clarke. Why wouldn't I be here to support you?”

Clarke squared her feet. “Because you’ve never supported my artwork before. At least, you haven’t supported it beyond saying it’s a good hobby.” 

Abby laughed, the joy in her voice absent. “Yes, I do recall saying that. But that’s not why I am here this time. Can I speak to you for a second?” “I’m 

almost up,” Clarke gestured to the stage. 

“It will be quick,” Abby promised. Clarke nodded, then followed her backstage. The mother and daughter stood there in silence, Abby twisting her hands together, Clarke stone cold. 

“Well?” Clarke prompted her mother, raising her eyebrows. “I’m not really in the mood for this, if you aren’t going to say anything.”

“I do have something to say. It’s just hard. But here goes…” Abby approached Clarke, placing both her hands on Clarke’s shoulders. “You’re my daughter, and a mom’s job is to guide you, to teach you how to navigate this world of men. There are many threats, dangers, and evil things out there that are ready to just eat up daughters alive.”

“Thanks, Mom, that’s really comforting.” 

Abby shook her head. “That’s not my point. My point is, I think that I might have reached all that I can teach you. I think I reached that point long ago, and that is more terrifying than still having to guide you. So I’ve been trying to control you, shape you into someone you aren’t.”

Clarke’s eyes started to water. “What are you trying to say, Mom?”

Abby stepped back, looking to the ground. “You were gifted with a brilliant mind and a brilliant eye. You have an amazing talent, Clarke, and if when you pursue art, I am not going to stop you. I am only going to encourage you. I just wanted you to know that.”

Clarke wiped a tear from her eye. “When?”

Abby laughed again. “Well, I’ve already scheduled what seems like dozens of interviews with schools around the country.”

Arms open, Clarke smashed into her mom, hugging her fiercely. “Thank you, Mom.” 

Abby rubbed Clarke’s back, kissing the top of her head. “Of course, sweetie. I love you.” 

Clarke pulled away, smiling with pure happiness.

“So, what painting are you going to present?” 

Clarke held up the waterfall, and explained what it meant. Abby sniffled, but said she loved it. 

“Oh, I forgot to mention, I brought the one painting you left at home. I figured that was the one you were going to present, but you seem pretty attached to this one.”

“The one I left at home?” Clarke repeated.

“Yes. I left it at your station.” 

“Which one?” Clarke’s heart accelerated. 

“Oh, well,” Abby reached into her pocket. Taking out her phone, she flipped through her photos. “Ah-ha! This one,” she showed Clarke. Clarke breathed in. 

“You… you liked that one?” 

Abby smiled. “I loved it. I am sorry for getting mad at you before for not telling me. It took me time to process all that you are dealing with right now. He’s not just okay; he’s great. He’s proven that over and over, and I could not be happier for you two.”

Clarke squished her mouth. “We aren’t exactly on the best of terms anymore,” she lamented.

Abby looked surprised. “Really? But I just saw him out there in the audience.”

Clarke gasped. “What?”

At that moment, Ms. Taylor poked her head from behind the curtain. “Clarke, you’re up!”

“Go one, Clarke!” Abby pushed her forward, and Clarke was standing on the stage, painting still facing her body. 

Clarke scanned the audience, and sure enough, she saw him — he was looking down, but that was his curly hair. She could have spotted it from a mile away. Then, he glanced up, and his eyes betrayed sorrow. They did not ask for forgiveness, as she saw that they expected none. Only repentance. 

“What do you have to show us today, Clarke?” Ms. Taylor asked Clarke. “Please describe your muse, and what direction you took it.” 

“Yes,” Clarke began. She lifted up her painting, analyzing it. But it didn’t seem right anymore. She had to tell Bellamy how she truly felt; there was no point in denying it. She had to embrace it. She turned to Ms. Taylor. “May I?...” She asked, gesturing to the microphone. Ms. Taylor nodded, handing it to her. 

Clarke took it, then walked down the stage.

“I decided to explore how us homo sapiens feel and experience emotions, and the complexity that goes along with those sensations.” She reached her booth, and placed her waterfall painting down. Looking for the one her mother brought, she continued. “I believe that feelings are not exclusive. We don’t just feel sorrow, or joy. We don’t just harbor anger for someone without feeling some sense of same with that person.” She found it, and hid it from everyone else as she walked back up to the stage. “So through my paintings, I tried to capture certain emotions as they blend together in our own minds.”

She flipped her canvas, and heard a collective gasp with the reveal. But she was only staring at Bellamy, who, after several seconds, turned his attention to Clarke. 

The painting showcased a silhouette of a man, walking down a dirt road. Red flowers and orange plants grew from the base of the silhouette, reaching up and around the dark image. The warm colors complimented with the harsh yellows and deep reds of the road and the sky. The plants guarded the man from the darkness of the environment around him, except some streaks penetrate man. 

The man had curly hair, with a stance that only Bellamy had. Only those that knew him well enough would have been able to recognize it, but it was clearly him.

“This one represents two of the most extreme emotions I can think of. One that harbors life, growth, and devotion. The other enhances destruction, death, but also devotion,” Clarke explained. 

“The flowers and the environment represent the two emotions, and how closely related they are. How one can get confused between one and the other, or how one can think that they might be mutually exclusive without realizing you are feeling both at once.”

“And what are those emotions, Clarke?” Ms. Taylor asked, taking back the microphone. 

Clarke looked at her painting, then back at Bellamy. “Hate and love. I believe that the colors of hate and love are almost identical.”

After a pause, everyone started clapping. Bellamy just looked stunned, and Clarke’s eyes started watering again. She excused herself from stage, running outside. She found a secluded bench, sat down, and covered her eyes.

_ That was so stupid, _ she told herself, trying (in vain) to reign in her emotions.    
  
“Clarke?”

_ Who is it this time? _ She wondered, looking up.

Bellamy stood there, looking a little dejected, grasping a large black plastic bag in one of his hands. 

“Bellamy?” She hated how desperate her voice sounded. 

He offered a lopsided smile. “Hey. Can I… can I sit?”

Nodding, Clarke shifted to make room for him. He sat straight and rigid, as if he was uncomfortable around her.

“I really loved your painting.”

“Really?”

He nodded, smiling at Clarke. “It was beautiful. You are amazing.” 

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.” Bellamy cleared his throat. “I, uh, stopped by since I wanted to give this to you.” He handed her the plastic bag.

Clarke rummaged through it, a smile forming on her face. “What! No way! These are those new expensive acrylics I told you about a month ago!” She couldn’t believe it.

“Yep. And look — I know you were almost done with your previous sketchbook, so I also got you a new one.”

Clarke look up. “You? You bought these? How?”

Bellamy lifted a shoulder. “Well, I had some cash lying around since some scumbag wanted to mess with you. Figured I should spend it on someone that I cared about.”

Clarke smiled. “Thank you, Bellamy. Really, thank you.” 

Bellamy turned in his seat. “You’re right, you know.”

“In what? You’ll have to be more specific.”

“About the color of hate and love. They are really close.”Bellamy started to lean in. 

“Oh?” Clarke leaned in as well.

“Yes. Because while I know you’ll always drive me crazy, I also know I’m falling in love with you.”

“Right back at you, buddy,” Clarke whispered before closing the gap between them. The feeling of his curls under her fingers felt so right, his mouth on hers. 

She pulled away. “But you can’t just buy me art supplies every time you mess up,” she warned. 

  
Bellamy acted sad. “I know.” Then he grew serious. “But I plan on never hurting you ever again. I promise that.”

Clarke smiled bashfully. “I want to show you something. But stay here.”

After agreeing. Clarke left Bellamy alone on the bench as she ran back into the auditorium. She grabbed her sketchbook from her backpack, then returned outside.

She hopped into Bellamy’s lap. Clutching her sketchbook to her chest, she took a deep breath.

“I drew this awhile ago. And I want you to have it.” She revealed the image she had been working on when she first told her mom they had been dating, only now it was inked. His freckles were accented more, his dark eyes showing emotion that Bellamy never allowed out unless he was truly content with his company. The history book showed an image of Julius Caesar, and a small smile was forming on Bellamy’s face.

“Clarke, this is amazing,” Bellamy breathed, brushing his fingers over the paper.  “Thank you so much for showing this to me. It’s beautiful.”

“Did you just call yourself beautiful?” Clarke asked, indignant. “Wow, you are so—”

Bellamy silenced her by bringing his lips back down to hers, and she let him kiss her senseless on that bench. For the first time in a long time, she was completely happy. Bellamy held her in in her arms, and her future was looking colorful. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it's not perfect, and Clarke and Bell and a tiny bit OOC, but that's how it ends in the movie, and that's how I wanted to write the characters. 
> 
> Thank you for reading my fic. I always appreciate it.


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